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Verdigris Valley Verse 



1 




ALBERT STROUD 



I 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



A VOLUME OF ORIGINAL POEMS 

By ALBERT STROUD 



ILLUSTRATED 



The Journal Press-i^^^it Coffey ville, Kansas 
1917 



Copyright. 1917 
By Albert Stroud 



NOV 30 1917 



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TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Introduction 11 

Things We Ought to Know 13 

Revising the Bible 14 

Beautiful Snow 15 

Intensive Gardening 16 

Poetry and Weather 17 

The Kansas That Was 18 

The Warrior's Farewell 19 

When Pa Goes Fishin' 22 

An Inalienable Right 23 

English As She Is Not Spelled 24 

Voices of the Night 25 

Cadmus and Europa 26 

The Melancholy Days 27 

Godiva Up to Date 28 

The Weather Grouch 29 

Small -Potatoes 30 

Kate Bender Dead Again 31 

Striking It Rich , 32 

When the Worm Turned 34 

Damon and Pythias 35 

Tell, the Swiss Patriot 36 

Down Where They Raise 'Em 38 

The Return of the Bustle 39 

A Restaurant Tragedy 39 

A Western Romance 40 

The Limit of Patience 42 

The Call of Duty 43 

Who Are the Heathen? 44 

Out of a Job 45 

Modern Robin Hood 46 

The Neversweat 47 

The Summer Appetite 48 

Balak and Baalam 49 

Wasted Opportunities 50 

Propriety in Dress 52 

Joys of Spring 53 

When Zekiel Played the Fiddle 54 

The Last of Tim 55 

When Rover Runned Away 56 

A Perverted Invention 58 

The Would-Be Tax Dodger 59 

Looking on the Bright Side 61 

Woes of the Wealthy 62 

A Plea for the Teacher 63 

Work for the Booster Club 64 

The Pessimist's Plaint 65 

The Ideal Season 66 

The Christmas Fiddle 68 



CONTENTS— Continued 

Sister's Summer Hat 70 

Exit J. Barleycorn 72 

The Moving Season 73 

Getting Back to the Farm 74 

Fishing Time 7& 

A Cat-astrophe , 77 

Downfall of the Speed Fiend 78 

No Time to Vote 79 

Knocking the Doctor 80 

Legislative Superfluity 81 

Julius Caesar 82 

The Prodigal Son 83 

The Baby Sister 84 

New Year Resolves 85 

The Snorer 8e 

House Cleaning Time 87 

Following Suit 87 

Hand-Me-Down Maxims 88 

The Summer of Umpity-Steen 90 

City Elections 91 

Christmas Giving 92 

The Calendar and the Girl 94 

The Pawpaw 96 

The Legislature 97 

School Day Memories 98 

The Warm Weather Nuisance 99 

The National Guard 100 

It Was a Church Wedding 101 

A Plea for the Mule 102 

The Spider and the Fly 103 

The Parade Habit 104 

The Successful Failure 105 

Gardening by Almanac 106 

The Call of the Brook „ 107 

Requiescat in Partes 108 

Baby Bye— Revised 109 

Taking Vacations 110 

Hereditary Crime 112 

The Assessor 113 

When Willie Jined the Band 114 

"Nothing in the Paper" 116 

Keeping Up the Interest 117 

The Reformed Reformer 118 

What's In a Name? 119 

Everything Is High 120 

A Tussle with Grip 121 

High Water Time 122 

It Isn't Any Snap 123 

The Three Fishers 124 



10 



Introduction 

Many of the poems in this book have never 
been printed before, but a majority of them 
appeared originally in newspapers for which 
the author has worked for the past dozen years. 
They have been freely copied in a wide circle 
of exchanges, whose editors have been more 
than welcome to them. Only those are used 
here which are general as to subject matter, 
or which admit of revision, or those of recent 
production; for the "verse of the period," like 
news, rapidly deteriorates and what is of inter- 
est today is forgotten tomorrow. Some were 
written to satisfy a curiosity to see them in 
print, others to fill the demand for something 
to brighten up the front page. Their publica- 
tion in book form came as an afterthought; for 
a premature dive into literature in his callow 
years satisfied the author for quite awhile. 
Still he looks back to the time of the launching 
of "Ancient Myths" (a take-off on Greek 
mythology) as a real adventure and nothing 
else that came of it is as highly prized as the 
sacred, blue envelope from Eugene Ware — one 
of the greatest poets the nation ever produced 
— containing the encouraging statement that 
"You certainly show talent and it will improve 
as you proceed," Ironquill, could you return 
from the land where all good poets go, long 
enough to be my critic for a second time, I 
wonder if you would say: "It has improved." 

The Author. 



11 



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A VERDIGRIS RIVER SCENE 
Upon the shore that lined the Verdi's peaceful way — Page 25 



12 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Things We Ought to Know- 
There are plenty of poets who sling a good pen 
When writing an ode to the flag of the free, 
Who prate of the flowers that spangle the glen 
Or tell of the damp-rolling, dark-foaming sea. 

But where is the man with the gift of the muse, 
Who can make all immortal, in story and song. 
The things that we know and the things that we use 
And th.e things that we want as we journey along? 

There are slathers of stanzas on heroes of old, 
Which tell of the feats of the army and navy ; 
But few of the glories have ever been told 
That hang round a platter of chicken and gravy. 

There are pale, sickly members of minstrelsy's clan 
Who weep as they sing of humanity's fate ; 
But let them come forward and tell, if they can, 
The way to grow hair on a shiny, bald pate. 

There are epics unnumbered in every style 
That tell how the planets chaotically clash ; 
But never a word on the use of the bile 
Or a hint at the contents of boarding house hash. 



TT 



'VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Revising the Bible 



"Fm sorely peeved," said Deacon Dobbs, when he 
came home from church, 

**I used to be a crackerjack on scriptural research; 

I had whole chapters memorized which I would oft- 
times quote, 

I knowed the Bible so that I could sing it through by 
note. 

"But now they've got a new revise and everything is 
changed ; 

The chapters and the verses are differently ar- 
ranged ; 

And when the preacher reads a text it don't sound 
right at all 

For Hell is rendered "Ha-dees," "Gehenna" or 
"She-ol." 

And lots of sound opinions the church has held so 
long 

The new revision indicates to be entirely wrong. 

"When some smart theologian who wants to win a 

name, 
Who's studied Greek and Hebrew till he worked his 

way to fame. 
Finds out us old time brethren has got him fairly beat 
A quotin' of the scriptures, he rises in his seat 
And moves to change the version that we relied upon 
From the openin' of Genesis to visions of St. John. 



14 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



**I reckon in a few more years the Book will be re- 
vised 
Till all them ancient stories will be wholly modern- 
ized, 
With Adam as a boozer who drank his apple-jack 
And Sampson as a slugger who managed to come 

back; 
With Noah as the captain of a steamer on the seas 
Who caught wild animals for men who ran menag- 
eries; 
And Moses, with a job press, upon Mount Sinai, 
Will be printin' the commandments for the people 

standin' by. 
While Jehu in his armored car with rapid firin' gun 
Is chargin' heathen trenches from the dawn till set 
of sun." 



BEAUTIFUL SNOW 

I knew that it was coming the night before it 
came, for my rheumaticky shoulder was threaten- 
ingly lame ; I went out on the walk to see the flakes 
descending over me, and watched them falling, 
falling — then I slipped and did the same. 

Thou art a boon of nature, for thou wilt help the 
wheat and drive the nimble rabbit to his narrow, 
warm retreat. If I can track him to his den, I'll swat 
the beef trust once again ; I'll take him home and eat 
him, for we haven't any meat. 



15 



Intensive Gardening 

The cost of living is a fright 
To folks who dwell in town 
And experts figure day and night 
On how to keep it down. 

They tell us what we ought to eat 
And how we ought to dress, 
In paths of right they guide our feet 
To save us from distress. 

They have a sure, unfailing plan 
That's bound to hit the spot. 
If every woman, child and man 
Will tend a vacant lot. 

The gladsome spring will soon be here 
When every one should go 
And plant upon the front parterre 
A sweet potato row. 

Along the alleys and the streets 
Would be a splendid place 
To set out beds of early beets 
And celery and mace. 

We ought to fill the gutter spout 
With rich and sandy loam 
And plant the seeds of sour kraut 
To brighten up the home. 

Then forward, all ye lazy blokes, 
Let's swat old H. C. L., 
Raise more of beans and artichokes 
And less of weeds and hell. 



TT 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Poetry and Weather 



I wrote a little poem on the melancholy days 

Which told of chill and foggy winds in many a dismal 

phrase ; 
But still the golden summer lingered in the lap of fall 
And the editor refused it for it wouldn't fit at all. 
Said he : "Compose some stanzas about this lovely 

clime 
And bring 'em to the office and we'll use 'em every 

time." 



And so I sought the woodland wild, dressed in my 

summer wear, 
To draw some inspiration from the sunshine and the 

air; 
But ere I wrote a dozen lines about the bosky glen 
A blizzard came and froze the ink within my 

fountain pen ; 
The wind blew through my garments, so gauzy and 

so brief, 
My ears got blue and wilted like a frosted pumpkin 

leaf; 
I had to hire a plumber to come down to my place 
And set the heater up for me so I could thaw my face. 



My rythmical effusion I proudly took to town 

But when the printer read it he calmly threw it down. 

Quoth he : "That stuff you've written is sadly out of 

date. 
The trouble is you brought it in about a day too late.'* 



17 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Kansas That Was 

There was a state called Kansas, it's a place I used 

to know, 
And I'd like right well to see it if I knew which way 

to go; 
Its prairies they were level and as far as eye could see 
There wasn't any house but ours, and not a fence or 

tree. 
We had a field of second sod where tumble weeds 

would grow 
And in the fall when they were dry I liked to watch 

them blow. 
They made the nicest herd of cows for little girls 

and boys 
Who didn't have — and didn't need — a lot of costly 

toys. 
We hadn't any berries so we made sheep-sorrel pie ; 
We sliced our pumpkins into strips and hung them 

up to dry. 
And in the winter they were fine, cooked with a 

hunk of meat ; 
Those were the days when anything seemed mighty 

good to eat. 
The sunsets out in Kansas were not clouded o'er with 

smoke 
And when we went to take a walk there was no dust 

to choke ; 
1 could name a hundred reasons, as I live those times 

again, 

"Why Kansas was a paradise for women folks and 

men. 
I ought to go back there once more, I thought I heard 

you say ; 
Why, sure, I'd like to do it — but I never moved away. 



18 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Warrior's Farewell 

Old Tommy Hawk, the Injun Chief, 

Lay dying in his lodge ; 
His squaw and children bore with grief 

The blow they could not dodge. 
He moved his lips, as if to speak 

And beckoned with his hand ; 
His voice was just a timid squeak 

They scarce could understand. 
But when their faces they inclined 

To where the warrior lay. 
Upon his couch, to death resigned, 

They heard him faintly say : 

"Fm headed for the hunting ground 

Where all good Injuns go; 
Where bootleg whiskey ne'er is found 

And joys immortal flow. 
I'm going to quit this vale of tears, 

This land that gave me birth, 
Whose plains are grazed by shorthorn steers 

That cover all the earth. 
I long to chase the nimble deer 

As in the days gone by, 
To bid farewell to every fear 

And wipe my weeping eye. 

"Ere since the white man came this way 

I have not had a chance ; 
He makes me raise alfalfa hay 

And wear Prince Albert pants. 
These rocky Oklahoma knolls 

O'er which I used to climb 



19 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Are punctured full of six-inch holes 

To Mississippi lime. 
From countless wells the black oil flows 

That fills them to the brink 
And smites my classic Roman nose 

With heap ungodly stink. 

"I do not crave the yellow gold 

They paid me for my lease ; 
I do not love the tanks that hold 

Their million barrels of grease; 
I care not for the motor car 

With which the young braves sport, 
For every time they roam afar 

It lands them into court. 
I've tried to love the paleface land, 

Until it got my goat, 
Where politicians grasp my hand 

And bid me go and vote ; 
Where cost of living takes my breath, 

Where doubts and fears arise, 
Where bandits scare me half to death 

And danger lurks in pies ; 
Where breakfast food is shredded 

And doled out by the pound. 
Farewell, vain world, I'm headed 

For the Happy Hunting Ground." 



20 



BY ALBERT STROUD 




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"I'm headed for the hunting ground where all good Injuns go; 


where bootleg whiskey ne'er is found and 




joys immortal flow." 



21 



When Pa Goes Fishin' 

My Papa takes some hooks an' string 

An' goes a-fishin' ever' spring; 

He gits some hoppers, bugs an' worms 

An' things 'at creeps an' bites and squirms — 

One crawled at me an' I was skeered, 

But Pa, he aint a bit afeared. 

He takes a box o' dirt or sand 

And puts 'em in it with his hand. 

Pa gets hisself a long, straight stick 
An' hunts a place down by the crick 
An' there he sets till nearly night 
But hardly ever gits a bite. 

One day I said to him I wish 
'At he would catch a great, big fish. 
Jest then his bobber bobbed around 
And wiggle-waggled up and down, 
But when he jerked it all he had 
Was jest a ugly ol' craw-dad. 

Another time he give a yank 

An' lammed a catfish on the bank: 

It tried its best to get back in 

An' horned my Papa with its fin. 

But still he belt it through the jaw 

An' took a little piece o' straw 

An' stuck it right into its head. 

For that's the way to make 'em dead. 

We took it home and skinned it nice 
An' put it on some salt and ice. 
That night I et a great big piece 
'At Mama fried in bacon grease. 



22 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



An Inalienable Right 



Jim Jacobs read with much alarm 

Of hyphenated skates 
Who try to work their schemes for harm 

On these United States. 
Then in his patriotic breast 

An angry passion rose, 
So high it nearly split his vest 

And tingled in his toes. 

"These furriners," Jim Jacobs said, 

"On mischief shore are bent; 
They seem to have it in their head 

To bust this gover'ment. 
They leave their wives to do the chores 

And pack in wood and cobs 
While they infest our peaceful shores 

And steal away our jobs. 

"The men who guide the ship of state 

Are ignorant as sin, 
Or they would go and shut the gate 

That lets these meddlers in. 
Now, I am forced to pay a tax 

That's bigger every year 
Because I own some little shacks, 

A work hoss or a steer. 
Our children have to go to schools 

And we must buy them books 
Because we are a set of fools 

Run by a set of crooks. 



23 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



**The laws are made to help the rich 

And keep the poor man down; 
They even tell you where to hitch 

When you drive into town. 
And if you take a little nip 

To chase dull care away 
They grab the bottle off your hip 

And lock you in the quay. 

"The liberties our fathers prized, 

For which they fit and died, 
Have one by one been sacrificed — 

Our goose is cut and dried. 
The octopus has wrapped his claws 

Around us tight and strong; 
The country's cursed by cruel laws 

And every thing is wrong. 

"But people who were bred and born 

Beneath the starry flag 
Have earned the right to toot the horn 

And masticate the rag. 
So when it comes to jerkin' hide 

From off the gover'ment, 
We have no honors to divide 

With any furrin' gent." 



ENGLISH AS SHE IS NOT SPELLED 



There once was a flying machine 
That was run by a fellow named Grine ; 

It went up so high 

It was lost in the skigh 
And since then has never been sine. 



24 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Voices of the Night 



Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne 

Had cast her mantle like an old, black sheepskin over 

all the earth ; 
The watch-dog lay beneath the porch and gnawed a 

bone, 
The tired farmer snored for all that he was worth. 



High on a limb the wide-eyed owlet sat and 

screeched, 
Although his high, falsetto voice was out of tune. 
And shrieked in shivering, ghostly accents till it 

reached 
Up to the cold, refulgent, round-faced moon. 

Upon the shore that lined the Verdi's peaceful way 

A solitary bullfrog droned his sullen note. 

As if the bugs and critters he had eaten through the 

day. 
Resentful like, were calling from his throat. 



The playful pollywog doth now produce encircling 

rings, 
That on the river's rugged shore in angry billows 

break; 
Anon the speckled rooster cranes his neck and flaps 

his wings 
And bids the slumb'ring, snoozing, sleepy earth 

awake. 



25 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Cadmus and Europa 

The dragon's teeth that Cadmus sowed on 
Thebes' classic site produced an army all equipped 
to rush into a fight and had he not succeeded well 
and put the riot down there would have been nobody 
left to help him build the towm. A youth whose 
name was Cadmus lived in Asia, far away; he had a 
little sister, so the Grecian legends say. Europa was 
the maiden's name and she was pretty, too, her hair 
was long and curly and her eyes were lovely blue. 
The gods looked down upon her and were jealous of 
her charm and so they sent a bull that way to work a 
scheme for harm. Europa climbed upon its back, 
like any kid at play, when lo, the creature ducked its 
head and carried her away, and that is all we know 
for sure about the little lass except that sailors out 
at sea saw beast and rider pass. Tradition says, how- 
ever, that she reached the western shore and they 
called the country Europe, for the maid they saw no 
more. This bull con game grieved Cadmus much 
and sent him on a quest that lasted many weary years 
with little sleep or rest, and while he never found 
the girl, as back and forth he strayed, the country 
suited him so well he took a claim and stayed. But 
Cadmus had to live alone, nobody else was there, and 
he was often in the dumps and filled with sad de- 
spair. He longed to do some noble deed to make 
himself a name but in the wilderness alone he had no 
chance for fame. One day he met a dragon and it 
gave him quite a fright but he drew his trusty weapon 
and he killed it in the fight, which pleased the gods 
immensely and near to him they drew and they gave 



26 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



him some instructions as to what he ought to do. 
They bade him pull the dragon's teeth and sow them 
all around and soon a horde of fighting men were 
springing from the ground and had he not succeeded 
well and stopped the fracas then his plans for build- 
ing Thebes would have failed for lack of men. Long 
centuries have rolled around since Cadmus went 
away but Europe well might use him if he should re- 
turn today. It seems that lately some one else has 
sown another crop of dragon's teeth and raised a 
muss that's awful hard to stop. 



THE MELANCHOLY DAYS 

The pools are fringed about with ice, 

A bluish tint is on my nose ; 

I'm digging now to raise the price 

Of heavy winter underclothes. 

The leaves have fallen from the trees, 

They lie in heaps upon the ground; 

An achey pain shoots through my knees; 

My overcoat cannot be found. 

The ice man looks so sad and meek, 

On him I do not deign to smile. 

That frozen chunk I bought last week 

I think will last me quite awhile. 

But sad to say, when I begin 

To see my ice bill shrink, alas! 

I have to put the heater in 

And pay just twice as much for gas. 



27 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Godiva Up To Date 



Oh, Tennyson, immortal bard! 
I read your poems by the yard. 
And while I prize them at their worth, 
I think if you were back on earth 
And saw the clothes the women wear 
You'd likely be compelled to swear 
That it was genius misapplied, 
When you composed Godiva's Ride. 

Your heroine rode through the town 
And didn't even wear a gown. 
But golden tresses, rightly placed. 
Are thicker than a seemore waist; 
And had the men exposed an eye 
As she was calmly riding by 
One leg was all they could have seen 
For Dobbin's hulk was in between; 
But now, when we look anywhere, 
'Tis nothing strange to see a pair. 
And Peeping Tom — unlucky soul — 
Would not have bored an auger hole 
And rubbered through it from his den. 
Had he lived now instead of then. 

Godiva rode the taxes down 
In Coventry, that ancient town; 
But now it's just the other way, 
Our bills are higher every day. 
In summer heat or winter frosts, 
The less they wear, the more it costs. 



28 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Weather Grouch 

One day I heard a fellow cussin' Kansas ; 

The weather at that time was somewhat dry. 

He was stringin' out profanity by stanzas 

And swearin' by the ridge-pole of the sky 

That there never was a time in all her hist'ry 

When the state was damp enough for man's abode, 

And to him it was the deepest kind of myst'ry 

Why folks would live where nothin' ever growed. 

I met that same old grouch some two weeks after 

When every thing was soaking in the rain, 

When all the world was filled with song and 

laughter. 
And found that he had altered his refrain. 
Of course he still was chawin' and a-cussin'. 
For he was one you couldn't satisfy. 
This time it was a rainin' and a mussin' 
When he preferred to have it clear and dry. 
He said in all his forty years of livin' 
In Kansas he had never failed on grain ; 
But he had a very definite misgivin' 
He was goin' to lose his crop because of rain. 
For it always het his wheat before he thrashed it 
And sp'iled his corn before he shucked his crop. 
But his story made me tired as he rehashed it 
And I bade him go and tumble in the slop. 




29 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Small Potatoes 

When the Autumn winds are sweeping 
And the cold chills come a-creeping 
Up my back-bone and my wish-bone and my funny- 
bone and all, 
Then to me there comes a question, 
Just a sort of slight suggestion : 
"Where are all your summer wages; what have you 
laid up for fall?" 

Then I say, "O, beg your pardon, 
I have quite a bit of garden." 
And I straightway sail toward it with my tater fork 
and hoe ; 
I explore the ground for tubers 
And I search my patch for goobers, 
But on close investigation I perceive they did not 
grow. 

Vines and stalks are there in plenty, 
But there is not one in twenty 
That produced a single thing to eat, the summer was 
so dry ; 
True, those later inundations 
Raised a crop of indications. 
But I find there's nothing to them and I sadly pass 
them by. 

Then should I be disappointed — 
Let my feelings come unjointed? 
No, for in my observations I have always found it so. 



30 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



This big world has many people 
Who run all to stalk and sepal, 
Bright green leaves and flowery petals, anything to 
make a show. 



Like my rows of bum potatoes 
And my crop of fake tomatoes. 
When you make a close inspection, you are filled 
with deep disgust. 
After calm investigating. 
After you have got their rating. 
You have found them small potatoes, buried 'neath 
the clods and dust. 



KATE BENDER DEAD AGAIN 



My eyes are brimming o'er with tears 

My heart is full of woe ; 
An old time friend went up the flume 

A day or two ago. 
Kate Bender was this maiden's name, 

You've heard it o'er and o'er; 
The hand of death has laid her low 

A dozen times before. 
I know I should not weep and wail 

Nor shed the briny tear. 
For Katy will come back to earth 

And die again next year. 



31 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Striking It Rich 

He used to wear patched overalls and eat the plain- 
est fare, 

His horses and his cattle were mostly bones and hair ; 

He had a little mortg:affed farm but could not make 
it pay 

Because his land would not produce sufficient corn 
and hay. 

At last, when hope herself had fled, he gave a drill- 
er's lease 

And soon was wading through a stream of black and 
fragrant grease. 

He traded off his crowbaits and his skinny sow and 
pigs 

And filled his lots and hog pens with a dozen drill- 
ing rigs. 

He sold his shackly road cart and bought a motor 

car. 
He wandered over Europe and he stopped in 

Zanzibar ; 
He traveled all about the earth by air and sea and 

land, 
From Greenland's icy mountain to India's coral 

strand. 

The while his nifty little yacht across the ocean 

steams. 
His hours are filled with peacefulness and in his 

nightly dreams 
He floats to some enchanted isle, where comes no 

thought of toil, 
Within an atmsophere of gas, upon a sea of oil. 



32 



BY ALBERT STROUD 




He traded off his crowbaits and his 

skinny sow and pigs, and filled his 

lots and hog pens with a 

dozen drilling rigs. 



83 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



When the Worm Turned 



I spaded up the garden in the early days of 
spring and I planted it to celery and beets and I 
thought the cost of living to the bottom I would bring 
when the time was ripe for every kind of eats. But 
the chickens saw me toiling with the pitchfork and 
the hoe and the rooster winked and beckoned to the 
hens and for forty blocks around me they came 
marching in a row from the stables and the poultry 
house and pens. Oh, they landed in that garden like 
a fierce, avenging sprite that the fantod or the jim- 
jam oft begets and they dug from early morning till 
the sun went down at night and they filled the air 
with dirt and onion sets. With an eye to things 
esthetic, I went out upon the lawn and I planted 
hollyhock and buttercup but my heart was filled with 
longing ere I saw another dawn for the life-blood of 
my neighbor's brindle pup. He had issued invita- 
tions to the other dogs in town and they gathered in 
the gloaming by the score and they tramped my 
johnny-jump-ups and my bouncing-betties down and 
they left me feeling mighty sad and sore. Then I 
went to seeing crimson and I grabbed my blunderbuss 
that I'd loaded full of buckshot for the day when I 
feared that Kaiser William might be aching for a 
fuss with a real, fighting, Yankee Doodle jay. When 
the twilight fell at even on that scene of bloody strife 
there were chicken guts and feathers everywhere; 
of a dozen curs that lately had been brimming o'er 
with life there was nothing left but license tags and 
hair. 



34 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Damon and Pythias 

When Damon was condemned to die 

'Twas Pythias begged his life 

And got for him a respite brief 

To see his kids and wife, 

Remained as hostage for his friend, 

Who finally returned 

And thus Old Dionysius, king, 

A wondrous lesson learned. 

They say the test of faithfulness 

The monarch saw that day 

Dispelled his hate and he allowed 

The friends to go their way. 

I question not the friendship 

Of those men of Syracuse, 

Perhaps you think it proven 

So I'll not attack your views; 

But evidence is lacking, 

Quite competent, I deem. 

To prove that their affection 

For each other was supreme. 

Did Pythias and Damon live 

As neighbors on the street? 

And did their wives belong to clubs 

That tat and talk and eat? 

Did Damon have a garden 

And did Pythias have a hen 

Which liked to scratch and would not stay 

Within a coop or pen? 

Could Damon's car run faster 

Than his neighbor's Ford could go? 

Were their children ever rivals 

In a Better Babies show? 

If affirmatory answers 

To these questions are assigned 

Then I'll concede their friendship 

Was the everlasting kind. 



35 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Tell the Swiss Patriot 

In Switzerland there once did dwell 
A man whose name was William Tell. 
He was a hero in the chase, 
In war he always set the pace. 
A crossbow was his lengthy suit 
And when there was a turkey shoot 
He always managed to be there 
And carry off the lion's share. 

As time went by fair Switzerland 
Was pillaged by an Austrian band. 
Old Gessler was a despot sour 
And firmly held the reins of power. 

The tyrant had a new plug hat, 

The rim was stiff, the crown was flat; 

It was the idol of his soul 

And so he set it on a pole 

And said to every sturdy Swiss : 

"You'll have to stop and kneel to this." 

When Tell came moseying along 
And saw the supplicating throng. 
He passed them by with haughty sneer, 
Which got old Gessler on his ear. 
And for this act of proud disdain 
The tyrant bound him with a chain 
And called the headsman with his knife 
To terminate our hero's life. 

But just to have some fun with Bill, 
He planned a way to test his skill ; 
And so he took a little lad. 
The only child the archer had. 
And put an apple on his head 
Then unto William gruffly said : 



36 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



"I've often heard that thou canst shoot; 
So blaze away at yonder fruit 
And if thou hit'st it fair and square 
And dost not touch a single hair 
I'll loose thy bonds and set the free 
For all thou wert so fresh with me." 

Then Tell, with calm and steady eye, 
Pulled up and let the arrow fly 
And smote the apple through the core 
And earned his liberty once more. 

He almost fainted with the test 
And when his friends unhooked his vest, 
Out from its folds an arrow slid 
Which he averred that he had hid. 
The tyrant's worthless life to take 
If fear had made his muscles quake 
And he had missed the apple red 
And shot his little boy instead. 

This made Old Gessler awful sore 
And Tell was put in chains once more 
And locked within a prison old 
Whose walls were damp and dark and cold. 

One day the tyrant wished to take 
A little journey o'er the lake ; 
He needed some good man to row 
And so he made his prisoner go. 

A storm came on, the boat upset 
And all the crew got very wet. 
Tell was the first to swim to land ; 
He seized a crossbow close at hand 
And shot Old Gessler in the head 
Till he was most extremely dead. 
And all the people heard with glee 
That Switzerland at last was free. 



37 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Down Where They Raise 'Em 

I met an Oklahoma lad, he was eight years old, he 

said; 
His eyes were blue, his face was sad, his hair was 

tawny red. 
I marveled much that I should meet, in such a region 

wild, 
A lad so innocent and sweet as this peculiar child. 

"Whence goest thou, my little man?" I asked, and he 

replied : 
"I'm huntin' for my brother Dan to see if he has died. 
Dan robbed a bank at Hoolagoo and as he turned and 

fled 
A marshal grabbed a thirty two and pumped him full 

of lead. 

"My dad and mam are gone to view them hang my 

brother Bill 
Because he shot a revenoo for snoopin' round his still, 
And Pete and Tom are down the track a-holdin' up 

a train ; 
I wisht that they would hurry back, looks like it's 

goin' to rain. 

"My sisters Annabel and May left home this after- 
noon; 

They took my leaden knucks away, my pewter bowl 
and spoon. 

They had a copper pot and cup and counterfeiter's 
mould ; 

I guess they're goin' to melt 'em up and coin 'em into 
gold. 

"They left me all alone at home and I am most afraid 
So I set out afar to roam and hither have I strayed. 
I guess I better hit the track ; I'm glad I met you, Boss. 
I betcha I wont hoof it back if I can steal a hoss." 



38 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Return of the Bustle 

How dear to my heart is the hump of the bustle, 
As mem'ries of childhood recall it again. 
Its movement kept time to the silken skirt's rustle 
And furnished an optical treat for the men. 
The bustle, the bustle, the fat, bobbing bustle 
That stuck out behind like a big, healthy wen. 

The wide-spreading bustle they say is returning 
And soon will be with us, our vision to cheer, 
To gladden the hearts that so long have been yearn- 
ing 
And looking for old-fashioned things to appear. 
The bustle, the bustle, let's get up and hustle 
And welcome the first one we see drawing near. 

The bustle of old, like the hump of a camel. 
Adorned the fair maiden, her charms to enhance ; 
But the new one hangs down, all her movements to 

trammel 
Like slack in the seat of a big pair of pants. 
But so it's a bustle, why care we a cussel? 
Let joy be uncorked and go on with the dance. 



A RESTAURANT TRAGERY 

An eating house waiter named Lou 
Let go of a dish of hot stou. 

Which fell on a guest 

And spoiled his vuest. 
So the hasher was forced to skiddou. 



39 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



A Western Romance 

Bill Erp, the broncho buster, 
Was a very valiant lad ; 
A pair of buckskin trousers 
Were all the pants he had. 

Bill went to town one evening, 
A pint of booze to get. 
Which made him fall into the creek 
And got him very wet. 

Now, when his pants began to dry. 
The waistband tighter grew 
And in the same proportion, 
The legs grew shorter, too. 

So Bill took off his breeches 

And hung them on a limb, 

Then watched them slowly fade away 

Amid the twilight dim. 

All night they shrunk while Bill lay drunk 

And got so very small 

That when he woke next morning 

He had no pants at all. 

Bill rode into the camp that day 
With heart extremely sad 
Because the buckskin trousers 
Were all the pants he had. 



40 



BY ALBERT STROUD 




Bill Erp, the broncho buster, was a very valiant lad; 

a pair of buckskin trousers were all 

the pants he had. 



41 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Limit of Patience 

An altruistic fellow 

Is our good old Uncle Sam; 

His fame is known throughout the earth 

From Cuba to Siam. 

He would spike the bristling cannon 

If he only had a chance 

And instruct the King of Seboo 

In the art of wearing pants. 

He's the very cream of patience 

If things are going right 

But when some one pulls his whiskers 

He is mighty apt to fight. 

He would feed the hungry millions 

With his wealth of golden grain 

And kid them when their hearts are sore 

Until they smile again. 

If they only tell their troubles 

And patiently will wait, 

We will rally to their rescue 

While our Uncle pays the freight. 

There's room for all the poor of earth 

Within his ample lap, 

But when some one treads his bunions 

He is mighty prone to scrap. 

He succored hungry Belgium 
Whose land was torn by war, 
He fought the epizootic 
On the shores of Labrador, 
He sent his Christmas turkeys 
To the folks in Guadeloupe 



42 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



To save our missionaries 

When the heathen yearned for soup. 

He's as peaceful as a Quaker 

And detests the battle's din 

But he'll fight his weight in wildcats 

When the wildcat rubs it in. 



His scholars and his statesmen 
Have worked from day to day 
To educate us in the art 
Of giving things away ; 
Till we cut our daily rations 
To hominy and prunes 
And sent our eggs and bacon 
To the starving Kameroons. 
But when some husky bully 
Starts in to run a bluff 
He finds our Uncle isn't all 
The tender-hearted stuff. 



THE CALL OF DUTY 

It costs us sixteen million plunks, 

The college experts say 
For insects that infest our bunks 

And those that spoil our hay. 
These figures are a sad surprise 

Our hopes have fallen flat; 
All season long we swatted flies 

And batted at the rat. 
It seems there is no rest at all 

Vouchsafed to mortal plug 
For now the battle cry rings out: 

"Go forth and slug the bug!" 



43 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Who Are the Heathen? 

The heathen down in Mandalay 

Are very ignorant they say 

And every year a mission band 

Sets out for India's coral strand ; 

While we at home must work and pray 

And garner cash to send away 

To free the folks who long have lain, 

Bound down by superstition's chain. 

One day, as down the street I went, 

I noticed in a dinky tent 

A dusky, dirty looking pair, 

With snaky coils of raven hair. 

With hardware hanging in their ears. 

Who called themselves the Hindoo Seers. 

And while I watched, behold, there came 

The sad and silly, halt and lame. 

The son and daughter, man and wife, 

From all the avenues of life. 

Who dug the money from their jeans 

That should have gone for pork and beans; 

For they imagined — foolish guys — 

Those tin-horn prophets very wise 

And thought by paying fifty cents 

To get a line upon the hence. 

And some there were who shed big tears 
O'er loved ones, missing many years. 
And others spoke of divers things 
Like family spats and wedding rings; 
Some asked the time to wean their pigs 
And where to set their drilling rigs 
And got their answers, cut and dried, 
Then turned away quite satisfied. 



44 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The heathen down on Ganges' bank 
May have some notions crude and rank 
And it's all right to work and pray 
And point him to the better way. 
But while we want to treat him kind 
And brighten his benighted mind, 
Let's not forget the folks at home 
Who harbor bats within their dome, 
Who think an Oriental mutt 
Who smears his mouth with betel nut; 
Whose nimble back is often bent 
To gods of reinforced cement, 
Beyond this mortal vale can look 
And read the future like a book. 



OUT OF A JOB 



The hobo paused before my door 

And begged a bite to eat; 

His cap was on wrong side before, 

His shoes o'erflowed with feet. 

"Whence all this misery?" I cried, 

"Why dost thou hit the pike?" 

He said "My goose is cut and dried, 

Our union's on a strike." 

"And what's your business, gentle sir?" 

His answer made me laugh. 

Quoth he, "I am a lineman for 

A wireless telegraph." 



45 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Modern Robin Hood 

In the days of old there were robbers bold 

Who lived in a forest deep; 
In a coat of mail with a tin-plate tail 

They would safely go to sleep. 

Their lives were free as a bumble bee 

And they sang away all care, 
They drank rich wines and they cut up shines 

And they knew not a thrill of fear. 

They robbed the lads with the surplus skads 
And gave to the ones who were poor, 

They rescued maids from the donjon's shades 
And they took them home once more. 

In these latter days, with our modern ways 

A bandit has little show; 
As he makes his haul a leaden ball 

Is apt to lay him low. 

In the days gone by he winked his eye 
As he dodged the archer's skill 

And his cast steel pants would safely glance 
The missies that sought to kill. 

Now the sleuths and the cops are thick as hops 
And they chase him around for sport ; 

His bean they slug and his face they mug 
And they hustle him into court. 

Then he goes to the pen with other men 

O'er his ruined life to repine 
And for ninety years weeps bitter tears 

As he helps make binder twine. 



46 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Neversweat 

His health is good, his limbs are strong, 
His voice is like a dinner gong, 
He lifts a half a ton with ease 
And he can eat a hoop of cheese. 
But strange to say he will not work 
Because he's lazy as a Turk. 

At digging wells or splitting wood 
He'd do the world a lot of good, 
But something whispers to this chap 
That some day he will strike a snap ; 
And so he loafs the whole day through 
And nothing useful will he do, 
Because he fears to soil his shirt 
Or get his fingers in the dirt. 

When first I met this man of ease 
He had a rig for shelling peas, 
But when he found no great demand 
For such a jim-crack in the land 
He organized a minstrel troupe 
That dealt old jokes and lived on soup 
And tried the people's joys to drown 
Until they ran him out of town. 

A dozen peaceful days passed o'er 
Before I saw him any more ; 
And then he came, imploring me 
To join the B. of X. Y. Z., 
A lodge that never asked for dues 
And fed its members oyster stews 
And paid a hundred dollars gold 
For every time you caught a cold. 



47 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



He platted town lots by the score, 
On hillside rough and sandy shore, 
But pulled his stakes and heaved a sigh 
When no one came that way to buy. 
He found a cure for roupy geese 
And ran for justice of the peace. 
But got a seat among the goats 
And lost by forty thousand votes. 

He always sports the best of clothes. 
Though where he gets them no one knows. 
He never tries to pay a debt 
And is a patient Neversweat. 
'Tis useless to repeat his name 
Because you know him, just the same. 
Search any town where'er you will. 
You'll find a chap who fills the bill. 



THE SUMMER APPETITE 

There is nothing on earth that is half so capricious 

As the old summer time appetite ; 
One day a man's stomach will act quite seditious 

If he dares to take only a bite. 
And the next day his food he so eagerly seizes 

He cannot stop eating at all; 
If shut in a house that was made of brick cheeses 

He would eat a hole right through the wall. 



48 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Balak and Baalam 



Balak was king of the Moabites and Baalam was 
his seer. The land was filled with Israelites and his 
heart was filled with fear. So Balak said to Baalam: 
"Go, saddle up old Jack and arm yourself with cuss 
words, to drive the sheenies back. We do not want 
them in our midst to peddle hand-me-downs and build 
their wretched hock shops in all our pretty towns." 

The prophet started out to do his errand for the 
king, but on the way there happened a most peculiar 
thing; for as he slowly plodded through a rugged 
mountain pass, an angel stood before them and 
frightened Baalam's ass. 

Then Baalam drew his trusty sword and hit the 
beast a rap and stuck his feet into its flanks and wild- 
ly yelled "Giddap!" The donkey raised its head 
aloft, as if it fain would bray and Baalam almost 
fainted when he heard it plainly say: 

"I am nothing but a jackass, while you are very 
wise ; but you'll have to give me credit for the keenest 
pair of eyes. If you could see what I can see out 
yonder in the path, I guess you'd be so mollified that 
you would curb your wrath. If you don't know any 
better than to act in such a style I think you ought to 
play the mule and let me ride awhile." 



49 



Wasted Opportunities 



When I was but a little lad 

I used to hate to hear my Dad, 

Who oft would break upon my snores 

With some remark about the chores, 

Would bid me rise and cuff the mule 

Before 'twas time to go to school. 

To hear that word would make me squirm, 
It was a most unwelcome term ; 
I longed to see the day appear 
When I should reach my major year. 
When all my school days would be o'er 
And dreary lessons come no more. 

While others wrote upon the board : 
*'The pen is greater than the sword," 
"The golden hours we must not waste 
But seize the moments as they haste 
Along the fleeting shores of time," 
Upon the seat I used to climb 
And slap a gob of yellow mud 
Against the ceiling with a thud. 

And when the teacher's back was turned 
I let my lessons go unlearned 
And when she called us to recite 
And tell the cause of day and night, 
Or figure out how many cents 
It took to build a yard of fence, 
Or parse a noun or spell a word 
I always blundered most absurd. 

But I have seen the world since then 
And met with educated men 



50 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Who wear their gold encircled specs 
And pay their bills with mammoth checks 
And own an interest in the bank; 
While I, with stomach weak and lank, 
Still wonder where I'll get the cash 
To buy myself a plate of hash. 

O, barefoot boy, with cheek of tan. 
Improve the moments while you can 
And fritter not the hours away, 
But learn your lessons well each day. 
For if you grit you teeth and try 
Success will greet you by and by. 




I used to hate to hear my Dad, who oft would 

break upon my snores and make remarks 

about the chores. 



51 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Propriety in Dress 

Oh, father is a careless wight, 
A sloven wight is he ; 
He sat out in the yard one night 
Beneath the greenwood tree. 

And mother's feelings much were hurt. 

The family disgraced, 

For naught except an undershirt 

He wore above the waist. 

Sufficient collar wasn't there 
To hide his manly chest 
And something like an inch of hair 
Was showing on his breast. 

But father has no modesty. 
As you can plainly see, 
To clothe himself so scantily 
And sit beneath the tree. 

When sister, charming little elf, 
Sits out beneath the tree — 
Well, I'd incriminate myself 
To tell what you can see. 

To say her dress is much too low 
As well as much too high 
Is quite a paradox, I know, 
And may sound like a lie. 

The hem is just about so high 
And flaps her knees about. 
Her bodice proves an alibi 
And leaves her thorax out; 



62 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



And when upon parade she goes 
Along the village street 
She has to walk upon her toes 
Instead of on her feet. 

But mother, while she does her bit 
As keeper of the flock, 
Is never known to throw a fit 
Because of sister's frock. 



JOYS OF SPRING 

O, let us be gay for the spring is now here. 

With its birds and its bees and its can of bock beer. 

Its warmth and its sunshine so boundless and free, 

Its sarsaparilla and sassafras tea. 

I fancy I see, 'mid the emerald bowers, 

A bevy of maidens out gathering flowers, 

Until I discern that those bright fairy queens 

Are filling a basket with turnip-top greens. 

The wealth of the springtime now f eedeth my soul 

Like a hired man is fed from a full gravy bowl ; 

'Tis then that I love to stroll out in the glade 

And bask in the willow tree's beautiful shade, 

Or calmly repose on the flat of my back 

And list to the mule whacker patiently whack. 



53 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



When Zekiel Played the Fiddle 

I went down town the other night and noticed on the 

street 
That folks was all excited and a-workin' of their feet ; 
I wondered what had happened to call out such a 

throng 
And so I fell in at the rear and sorter moped along. 
I learnt from scraps of language that they dropped 

along the way 
That they was goin' down to hear a violinist play. 
The price was pretty stiff for me — a dollar and a 

half— 
But I hadn't heard no fiddlin' since Brindle was a 

calf, 
So I marched in at the doorway and found a cush- 
ioned cheer, 
Away down by the platform where I could see and 

hear. 

When the curtain riz a feller, with a shock of 

fuzzy hair. 
Come out and made a little bow and acted mighty 

quare. 
And his manager informed us that the concert would 

begin 
And the party with the sneezy name would play the 

violin. 
I set there half an hour and a thinkin' purty soon 
That he'd surely give us somethin' when he got the 

thing in tune. 
Until the folks begin to cheer and clap their hands 

and smile, 
Then I realized the concert had been goin' quite 

awhile. 



54 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Well, if that is violinin', you are welcome to my 

share ; 
It was nothin' like the fiddlin' that was done by 

Zekiel Ware. 
Zeke used to be my neighbor, back thar in Tennessee 
And he dealt the kind of music that was melody to 

me. 
"The Irish Washerwoman," he could saw to beat 

the band, 
And the one alDOut the taters that growed in "Sandy 

Land"; 
He was shore a virtuoso on "The Gals of Arkansaw" 
And could make the ceilin' tremble playin' "Turkey 

In The Straw." 

If that gourd got out of kilter he would take it 'twixt 
his legs 

And twist and spit tobacker juice upon the wooden 
pegs 

And tease it with the hoss-hair bow across the cat- 
gut string, 

Till it give out strains harmonyus like the angels 
when they sing; 

And the shell that held this soul of mine would bust 
right down the middle 

And let it rise and fly away, when Zekiel played the 
fiddle. 



THE LAST OF TIM 

We are mourning for Tim 

Who went out to swim, 
Where the river ran close to the shore ; 

The water was damp 

And it gave him a cramp. 
And he'll never come back any more. 



55 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



When Rover Runned Away 

Our ol' dog Rover's runned away; 
We aint saw him since yisterday. 
He alius used to stand an' wait 
To meet me at the little gate 
When I got home from school at night ; 
An' now it don't seem hardly right 
'Cause he don't come an' wag his tail 
An' sniff around my dinner pail 
An' beg me for a scrap of bread — 
Pa says he's fraid 01' Rover's dead. 

I git so 'fraid when it is dark, 

'Cause I know he wont growl or bark 

If things come round the place at night 

Or ever' thing don't go jist right. 

We had him seven years an' more 

An' he aint done that way before. 

He had the softest kind o' bed, 
I made for him out in the shed ; 
It's gunny sacks, with lots o' hay — 
An' now he's went an' runned away. 
It might'a'been so lonesome, though, 
That he jist thought he'd rather go 
Where he could sleep with other dogs 
Instid o' chickens, calves an' hogs. 

I got a quarter, what I earned 
For havin' all my lessons learned, 
An' I would give it, ever' cent. 
If I could know jist where he went. 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



It's ffittin' dark all out o' doors, 
Ma says it's time to do my chores 
I'm 'fraid to go an' hunt the cow — 
O' lookee ! There comes Rover now ! ! 




He alius used to stand an' wait to meet me at the little gate, 
when I got home from school at night. 



57 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



A Perverted Invention 

The war planes nov/ are flying o'er the warm 
Aegean Sea for the Greeks have been inveigled in the 
mighty jamboree and I wonder, as I ponder, what old 
Daedalus would say, the way his great invention now 
is used to maim and slay. Of course you've heard of 
Daedalus, the carpenter of old ; he used to carp in 
Athens and the way the tale is told his fame had 
spread till Minos, who was kinging down in Crete, 
submitted plans and details for an engineering feat. 
A critter called the Minotaur was worrying the king, 
who couldn't think of any way to subjugate the 
thing; a cross between a nightmare and a wild-eyed 
wallaloo throughout the little island was the real 
bugaboo. It had fierce teeth and ugly claws and 
horns upon its tail, and Minos sent for Daedalus to 
build a monster jail. The workman took his little 
son, whose name was Icarus, to hand up nails and 
lumber and juggle bench and truss, and built a 
mighty Labrynth that wound so far about that sud- 
denly he found himself unable to get out. But 
Daedalus, the genius, was a most resourceful cuss, so 
he built some flying doodads for himself and Icarus 
and soon they had ascended from that prison, grim 
and bare, and were trying out their prowess doing 
flipflops in the air. But Icarus was venturesome as 
most of boys will be and flew his little air craft above 
the Grecian sea. The wings were fastened on with 
wax which melted in the sun and he had a tragic 
ending to his frolic and his fun. Old Daedalus was 
saddened till he pined his life away, but probably 
it's just as well he is not here today. He surely would 
be mortified and filled with grief again to see his 
great invention used to swat his fellow-men. 



58 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Would-Be Tax Dodger 

A self important gentleman one evening in the spring 
Upon a farm house doorbell most earnestly did ring; 
The good man met him with a smile and bade him 

enter in 
And with his prompt acceptance their acquaintance 

did begin. 

Then, as the conversation for a moment seemed to 

lag, 
The stranger said : "In yonder field I see a sorrel 

nag. 
I pray thee tell me is he sound of wind and limb 

and eye 
And what's the price that you would ask of one who 

came to buy?" 

The farmer thought: "Now here's the chap who's 

lookin' up the facts 
Pertainin' to the property on which I'm payin' tax. 
And if I say that Roger K. is worth two hundred 

straight 
They'll soak me worse than ever to run this durned 

old state." 

He cleared his throat and scratched his head, then 

spat upon the hearth 
And said : "You asked me, did you, what that sorrel 

hoss is worth ? 
It is a puzzling question and I pause to answer you ; 
That's the hoss my father gave me when this country 

all was new. 
I keep him as a relic of the day that's past and gone ; 
It's been a dozen years since he has had the harness 

on. 



59 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



That spavin on his off hind leg unfits him for the 

plow 
And when it comes to action, he's as awkward as a 

cow. 
He stutters when he paces and he stammers when he 

trots 
And he's always got the colic or the stringhalt or the 

bots— " 

"Enough! Enough!" the stranger cried, and sadly 

shook his head. 
"My fondest aspirations they are busted now and 

dead. 
I have four hundred dollars stowed away here in 

my pants 
Which I longed to hand you for him had you given 

me a chance. 
I have a horse that matches him from muzzle down 

to heel 
And if your steed was young and sound we sure 

would make a deal. 

"But while I'm disappointed I'll try not to complain ; 
I have found the man Diogenes once sought for all 

in vain. 
You are an honest yeoman, I am very proud to say, 
I'm delighted to have met you and now I'll say good 

day." 

The visitor departed and the farmer stood transfixed ; 
The thoughts that trooped across his brain were very 

sadly mixed. 
He sought the evening twilight and he roundly railed 

at fate 
And kicked about a dozen slats from off the garden 

gate. 



60 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Looking on the Bright Side 

Jim Jacobs aint the kind of chap to grumble and 

complain, 
No matter if the weather's dry or if it wants to rain. 
He whistles when the creek is out and never seems to 

fret; 
"Oh, I dunno," is his response, "It aint so very wet." 

In summer when the rains have ceased and people 

are forlorn 
And when they say the blazing sun is burning up 

the corn, 
Jim alius manages to shock the pessimistic swarm 
When he observes "Oh, I dunno; it aint so very 

warm." 



While teaming o'er the Texas plains, way back in '88, 
Jim lost the trail and lost hisself and lost his load of 

freight. 
He had no water for three days, but when relief 

came by 
Jim tipped the canteen up and said : "I wern't so very 

dry." 

One day, not very long ago, Jim suddenly took ill ; 
The doctor came and left for him a powder and a 

pill. 
His wife called for the minister to come and see him 

quick. 
But Jim demurred, "Oh, I dunno ; I aint so very sick." 



61 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The good man came and plead with him to hastily- 
repent 

Before he died and landed down where other sinners 
went. 

Jim smiled a little, sickly grin and raised up on his 
cot 

And feebly murmured : "I dunno ; hell aint so awful 
hot." 



WOES OF THE WEALTHY 

He spent his three score years and ten 

In piling up a fortune, 
And earned, as his reward from men, 

Denunciations, scorchin'. 
He was condemned for this and that, 

Till on his nerves it grated, 
And then was called upon the mat 

To be investigated. 
"Alas!" he cried, "Wealth brings no joys; 

I'll dissipate these riches 
And buy ten million ragged boys 

A pair of Sunday breeches." 
He scattered gold with lavish hand 

And feelings much elated. 
When lo, they called him on the stand 

To be investigated. 



62 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



A Plea for the Teacher 

The school marm is a winsome maid 

Who toils for meager pay 

To edify some little jade 

Whose mind is bent on play. 

For half a year she saves and works, 

Accumulating scads, 

Then spends them in successive jerks 

For books and other fads ; 

That she may better fitted be, 

By summer institute, 

To cultivate the young idee 

And teach it how to shoot. 

School is not what it used to be 

When you and I were small ; 

Such useless things as A B C 

Are hardly taught at all. 

Kids learn to read right off the book 

Before they learn to spell, 

And little girls are taught to cook 

And do the housework well. 

The boys now find their daily task 

Not half so dull and stale, 

For nothing better could they ask 

Than hammer, saw and nail. 

The teacher works for meager wage. 

But has to strive the more 

To glean from off the printed page 

Some forty kinds of lore, 

That she may guide the young idee 

Along the proper way; 

And that is why it seems to me 

We ought to raise her pay. 



63 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Work for the Booster Club 

A maiden of uncertain years 

Unto a Booster went; 
Her eyes were filled with twinkling tears, 

Her voice was cracked and bent. 
She said: "I understand your club 

Is working for the town, 
To boost the cause of every dub 

And keep dissension down. 

"The city's merchants you protect 

From aliens with their wares 
And street car men are promptly checked 

From charging monstrous fares; 
But while you rave at Seerbuck-Ward, 

It seems to me a bluff ; 
The idee hits me plenty hard 

You don't go far enough. 

"The principle is all O. K., 

I want to see it tried 
Upon the chap who goes away 

To get himself a bride. 
There's lots of girls right here at home 

Who do not have a beau, 
And why young men for love should roam 

Is something I don't know. 
We are as good as those who dwell 

In regions far away; 
And yet it seems the foreign belle 

Can beat us any day. 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



"So wont you, Mr. Booster Man, 

Our interests protect 
And try to formulate a plan 

To have the practice checked? 
For self alone you should not live 

Your prospects to enhance ; 
But try to find some v^ay to give 

The home-grown girl a chance." 



THE PESSIMIST'S PLAINT 

The world is full of peril, you can feel it in the 
air; you can tell it by Old Tabby's tail that bristles 
up with hair ; there are dangers on the water, on the 
land and in the sky, for the ocean might slop over, 
or perhaps it might go dry. The earthquake and the 
cyclone beset us night and morn, the army worms 
and doodle bugs are eating up the corn, the atmos- 
phere is laden with germs of every hue and comets 
are cavorting across the distant blue. Ah, little do 
I know the time when they may dash from space and 
drag their fiery tails across my unprotected face. My 
heart is filled with trouble and my eyes are wet with 
tears for science says the sun will cool in forty million 
years, the ice will form in solid sheets and cover all 
the earth and we'll have to wear our ear-muffs as we 
sit around the hearth. Although the things that 
haunt me have never happened yet, the dread 
suspense of what may come is why I moan and fret. 
I think I might be happy, and I would surely try, if 
I could be assured that I would live until I die. 



65 



The Ideal Season 

I do not care to loaf around 
When summer heat and droughts abound ; 
While others flee, their tasks to shirk, 
I'd rather peg away and work. 

The winter time is most too cold 
The sights of nature to behold ; 
The dells have lost their boskiness 
And cold winds fill me with distress, 
And if I do go out to roam 
I wish that I had stayed at home. 

In spring there always is a flood 
To turn the highways into mud 
And if I poke along the creek 
I get the chills and shake a week. 
Beside there is a lot of chores, 
Like setting hens and swinging doors 
And weaning pigs and hoeing corn 
To keep me busy night and morn. 

But when the autumn comes along 

That lazy feeling hits me strong, 

'Tis then I want to steal away 

From tasks that erstwhile seemed but play. 

All interest I quickly lose 

In dog fights, wrecks or other news ; 

And though I try from day to day 

I cannot write a roundelay, 

A sonnet or a pastoral, 

A canticle or madrigal. 



66 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The woods are calling me to come, 

The bumblebees are on the bum, 

I want to roam the field and mere 

And gaze upon the fatted steer 

That hasn't anything to do 

The whole delightful season through 

But stand upon the river brink 

And chew his cud and think and think. 

I know where is an orchard old 

With offerings of red and gold 

And where the wild grape climbs a tree 

And flings its challenges to me. 

I know that when the sun is bright 

The bass and bullheads still will bite; 

And so I'll take my line and pole 

And seek some deep and placid hole. 

Grasshoppers now are on the wing 

And lazily they hop and sing 

All ready to accommodate 

The chap who seeketh after bait. 

September weather is serene, 

The trees and grass are not so green ; 

I note already, here and there. 

Some color combinations rare. 

I hear the piping of the quail 

And look with longing down the trail 

That leads through glorious autumn days 

And ends in Indian summer haze. 



67 



The Christmas Fiddle 

The Christmas season was drawing near 
And I wondered what I would get that year. 
I wanted a change from ties and socks 
And stand-up collars and kerchief box. 
So I told my friends they could keep their pelf 
And I would buy something to please myself. 

The winter season was dark and drear 
And I longed for music, my soul to cheer, 
Some strains harmonic, so light and gay, 
To enter and drive dull care away. 

I remembered hearing, some time, some way, 
That one of my ancestors used to play 
With a skillful hand on the violin. 
Way back in the days that once had been. 
And the notion was so with reason fraught 
That into my head there came the thought, 
Since I was a sprout from the family tree. 
His mantle had fallen, perhaps, on me. 

So I sent a letter to Sawbuck Rear, 

In which was an order that read : "Dear Sir — 

I send you a dollar and thirteen cents, 

For which you will ship me, at my expense. 

One soft-pine fiddle and horse-hair bow 

That are listed in catalog so-and-so." 

Well, I got that gourd next year, by freight, 
And I sawed it early and sawed it late ; 
I tackled "Dixie" and "Soldier's Joy" 



68 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



And the mother's lament for her wandering boy, 

And every time I would start to play 

Some more of my neighbors would move away 

When I ran the gamut in sharps and flats 

It seemed the spirits of all the cats 

That gave up their lives — and other things — 

To furnish that fiddle a set of strings, 

Would fill the twilight with shrieks and growls 

And jar the nerves with their spectral yowls. 

The price of lots in that part of town 

Were finally forced and fiddled down 

Till the owners declared when they learned the facts 

That they would not keep them and pay the tax. 

They took the matter up into court 

And they dealt me a blow that destroyed my sport; 

They made me go on the witness stand 

And saw off a measure from "Sandy Land" 

That the judge and the jury might hear and know 

That all of the charges they made were so. 

They dished me up an injunction suit 

With a lot of damage and costs, to boot. 

And the court observed as he looked me through: 

'T find these charges are all too true. 

Go home and see if you can't be good 

And bust that box into kindling wood. 

Your playing sounds like the Banshee's wail 

And you'll have to cheese it or go to jail." 



69 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Sister's Summer Hat 

My sister bought a summer hat. 

The rim was three feet wide, 
It had a doodad on in front 

And feathers at the side ; 
She wore the hat to Sunday School, 

She wore it to the show 
And everywhere that sister went, 

The hat was sure to go. 

The plumage of the rooster, 

The blue .lay and the crow 
Is gaudy and is glossy 

And makes a heap of show ; 
The trappings of the ancient knight 

Were made of burnished brass 
And the way they used to glitter 

There was nothing could surpass ; 
But there's naught in art or nature 

That was ever seen before 
That can start to hold a candle 

To the hat that sister wore. 

When she wore it out in public, 

Folks were filled with wild dismay 
For they couldn't see a box car 

If that hat was in the way ; 
At church no one would sit behind 

The pew where sister sat 
For they could not see the preacher 

Because of sister's hat ; 
And many of the brethren 

Who were slightly under-size 
Lost all the claim they ever had 

To mansions in the skies. 



70 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



And each was represented 
Only by a vacant chair, 

For they would not go to meeting 
If sister's hat was there. 

Now sister had a sweetheart, 

As sisters sometimes do. 
But the wide expansive headgear 

Broke the love affair in two ; 
For when they went out strolling 

To hold communion sweet 
My sister walked upon the walk, 

Her fellow in the street. 

But sister does not worry. 

Though all our folks are sad ; 
She does not seem to give a care 

That every one is mad. 
Perhaps she thinks it matters not 

If people frown or smile 
Or what they say about her hat 

So long as it's in style. 




At church no one would sit behind the pew where sister sat, for 
they could not see the preacher because of sister's hat. 



71 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Exit J. Barleycorn 

Sinff a sonff of white mule, bottle full of rye ; 
All the whole creation now is going dry. 
Russia lost her vodka, Germany her schnapps; 
Soon there won't be any use in raising hops. 

Brewer and distiller looking down their nose ; 
Lots of kids and women wearing better clothes ; 
Solons up in congress talking mighty strong 
Of an anti-booze law, nation-wide-and-long. 

Sentiment is changing everywhere you go ; 
Fellow full of jag juice hasn't any show ; 
Places in the old town where he used to drink 
Do not want his quarter, cannot see him wink. 

Factory and railroad advocate the can 
As the proper token for the drinking man. 
Spiritus frumenti, silo-soup and rum 
Turn the handy genius to a useless bum. 

Barleycorn, the monarch, soon will leave his throne, 
Bootleg booze and jim-jams then will be unknown. 
Sing a song of bug juice, make your biggest bluff; 
Soon will eight and forty states be as dry as snuff. 



72 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Moving Season 



We are moving down at our house there is chaos 

everywhere ; 
We can see it in the prospect, we can feel it in the air. 
There are blankets on the clothes-line and the porch 

is piled with rugs, 
We have kerosened the bedsteads to exterminate the 

bugs. 

I am searching for a weapon to extract a stubborn 
screw. 

But my neighbor cannot help me, 'cause his folks are 
moving too. 

'Tis the season for departing from the well accus- 
tomed groove. 

When the migratory microbe makes the women want 
to move. 



Yes, we're moving down at our house, we are going 

to fly the coop ; 
There is bedlam in the kitchen, there are toothpicks 

in the soup, 
There are rain barrels in the parlor, filled with 

divers kind of junk, 
And we're sleeping in the cellar with a carpet for a 

bunk. 



73 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Getting Back to the Farm 

The cost of beef and bacon is getting mighty high, 
The price of eggs and butter is soaring to the sky, 
Our milk is so expensive that we only take a gill 
And lest we drink too much at once we suck it 
through a quill. 

The cost of living is a theme that claims attention 
now, 

It even seems to have the bulge on Europe's family 
row; 

Our thoughts are turned from gas bombs and dirig- 
ible balloons 

While we ponder on the prospect of getting back to 
prunes. 

The men who guide the ship of state around the 

shoals and wrecks 
Are talking on the subject of causes and effects. 
They seek to find the trouble and the remedy apply 
That will keep the price of eatings from going up 

so high. 

They have juggled with statistics and performed a 

little sum 
And they tell us that production is completely on the 

bum, 
That the merchant and the banker and the printer 

and the clerk 
Must get out in the country and procure a job of 

work. 

They say the population now is drifting into town 
And there must be some reaction to keep the prices 
down; 



74 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Yea, from the hill and housetop they are spreading 

the alarm, 
That the way to save the nation is to get back to the 

farm. 

Then farewell to the city with its glamor and its 

strife, 
I am going to seek some rural scene and lead the 

simple life. 
I want to be a farmer and with the farmer stand, 
With hayseed in my whiskers and a pitchfork in my 

hand. 

I will skiddoo back to nature and I'll buy a span of 

mules, 
A husking peg and hayrake and other farming tools. 
I will sow my fields in cabbage and when I thresh it 

out 
I will wreck the combination that controls our sour 

krout. 

I will plant the tiny hayseed and raise a crop of hay 
Perhaps I'll keep a hen that lays a dozen eggs a day ; 
I'll wipe the sweat from off my brow and bare my 

strong right arm 
And you'll see the prices tumble when I get back 

to the farm. 




75 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Fishing Time 

I often think I'll take a day and have some jolly 

times, 
I long to lay this pen away and quit these silly 

rhymes ; 
I want to take my line and hook and go down to the 

creek 
And seek the most inviting hole and fish for near a 

week. 

But yet I know this impulse wild I must not carry out 
For by it I am oft beguiled to paths of pain and doubt. 
Because when I go out to fish I rarely get a bite 
But sit there all day long and wish, then wander 
home at night. 

The turtles always get my bait as soon as I begin, 
They gather round in droves and wait to watch me 

throw it in ; 
And when I go to hunt some more and delve around 

and toil, 
The insects all have locked their door and gone down 

in the soil. 

I might dig down to bedrock firm and never get a 
one, 

I do not think I'd find a worm to hunt from sun to 
sun; 

But if there's any poison oak, I'll meet with that in- 
stead 

And then my face I have to soak in acetate of lead. 

Mosquitoes come and buzz and sing and prod me 
with their bills, 



76 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



And yet I wonder every spring what makes me have 

the chills. 
So perish, fond delusion, no longer will I dream 
Of quiet and seclusion along the babbling stream. 



A CAT— ASTROPHE 

Mary had a little cat 
That bore the name of Izzy ; 
Upon a pole it climbed and sat 
So high it made her dizzy. 
Against a live electric wire 
It touched its tail so fuzzy, 
A little flash — a gleam of fire — 
And now its name is Wuzzy. 




7/ 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Downfall of the Speed Fiend 



Jim Jacobs was a fiend for speed, 
And so he sold his spavined steed 
And put a mortgage on his land 
And borrowed cash on every hand; 
Then with the money went and bought 
Himself a rattly juggernaut. 

At first he seemed contented when 
He killed a neighbor's setting hen, 
But as the passion stronger grew 
He paralyzed a dog or two. 

From bad to worse Jim quickly went 
Upon his deadly mission bent, 
Till he would wink and slyly laugh 
When he could crush a yearling calf. 

One day, while driving into town 

He ran a horse and buggy down, 

Then turned and charged with honking loud 

Upon an inoffensive crowd, 

Which filled the air with dying groans 

And shrieks and wails and crunch of bones. 

The sheriff came and captured Jim 
And put the comealongs on him, 
So now he languishes in jail 
For lack of forty thousand bail. 



78 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



No Time to Vote 



A busy man was Jason Brings 

He had no time to vote. 
He spent his days at weaning pigs 
And building tanks and other rigs 

To keep his ducks afloat. 

I found him poking round his place 

On last election day. 
Says I: "'Tis well you saved your face 
And kept your name from sad disgrace 

And stayed the polls away. 

"For I am told a bunch of thugs 
Are pouring from their throats 

Dire threats that they will punch the mugs 

Of you and me and other plugs 
Who try to cast their votes." 

Old Briggses' eyes got very wide, 

His face grew very red. 
"What? take away the rights," he cried, 
"For which our fathers fit and died ! 

I'm goin' to vote, by Ned." 

A lot of men like Jason Briggs, 

Who pass their duty by 
And do not care a bunch of figs 
Would waltz around like whirligigs. 

Should we their rights deny. 



79 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Knocking the Doctor 



When folks are feeling blithe and gay, 
With ne'er an ache or pain, 
They gad about the house all day 
And chant this old refrain : 

"The doctor is a useless wight. 
His medicine a fake ; 
He doses me with aconite 
To cure the stomach ache. 

"Now there was Uncle Hiram's kid. 
Whose name was Ezra Stout, 
He had the measles, so he did. 
But wouldn't blossom out. 

"They sent for Dr. So-and-So 
Who diagnosed the case 
As rheumatiz and vertigo 
And dropsy of the face. 

"And then he sent an awful bill 
Which showed he had the cheek — 
I never have one when I'm ill 
My faith in them is weak." 

But when folks get to feeling blue 
And have to go to bed, 
With maybe just a chill or two 
And dizzy in the head — 

They swear they have the grip or bots 
Or other fatal ills 
And send right off for Dr. Watts 
To come and feed them pills. 



80 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Legislative Superfluity 



It's got to be so nowaday 
There is a law for everything; 
Our legislatures grind away 
In winter time. and bonny spring. 
And every chap who has a squeal 
Goes round and wags his under jaw 
And hands you out this tiresome spiel : 
"I think there ought to be a law." 

Wild-eyed reformers, filled with dreams. 

Orate till their suspenders burst, 

But when they hatch their little schemes 

They try them on their neighbors first. 

They warn us on the village street 

That we should change our minds and socks. 

They tell us what we ought to eat 

And how to set our eight-day clocks. 

And if we will not stand their josh, 

Resentment rises in their craw. 

They say: "I guess you will, b' gosh! 

Pervided we can git a law." 

I find that I am that way too 
And so I'll go to aid the cause 
And try to get a law put through 
To stop this fad of making laws. 



81 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Julius Caesar 



I sometimes tire of daily news as dry exchanges 
I peruse ; I long to quit this sordid grind and seek a 
tonic for the mind — to single out some classic, old, 
wherein a wondrous tale is told of knights and wars 
and mountain steeps and castles with their donjon 
keeps. 

Last night while ruminating round, upon the 
mantelpiece I found som.e mental fodder, cut and 
dried, which told how Julius Caesar died. 

This Caesar was a Roman bold, who from his 
wars brought slaves and gold. Now certain knockers 
in the land united in a secret band and plotted how 
to take his life, but fair Calphurnia, Caesar's wife, in 
some way seemed to get a nudge that someone owes 
her man a grudge, that Brutus, Cassius, and the rest 
would stab him through his fancy vest. And Caesar, 
musing on the way, thus to Marc Antony did say : 

"Now, mark you, Marc, yon Cassius, mien ; he is 
too long and lank and lean. Give me big men who 
sleep o' night, whose waistbands are extremely 
tight." Thus portliness he did defend and proved 
himself the Fat Man's friend. 

The wary crew soon laid their plan and waited 
long to get their man. "He is ambitious," Brutus 
said; though thrice had Caesar shook his head, and 
thrice the crown he did refuse. They murmured: 
"Don't it beat the deuce? Did'st ever hear of such a 
thing? He does not want the job of King. Perhaps 
he seeks a higher place and thinks ere long to be the 
Ace." 

And so they shouted Caesar's name and ran their 



82 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



daggers through his frame, till at their feet he fell 
and died and they at last, were satisfied. 

Marc Antony was Caesar's friend and got sweet 
vengeance in the end and all of those who wrought 
his doom, ere long had scooted up the flume. 



THE PRODIGAL SON 



The prodigal of scripture was a worthless sort of lad ; 
He had the wanderitis and he had it awful bad ; 
But when he balked on eating shucks and vowed no 

more to roam 
He got a lot of credit 'cause he hit the trail for home. 
Yes, we hear about the prodigal and what a time he 

had. 
But nothing of the other boy, who didn't leave his 

dad. 
He was a patient charley-horse and stayed down on 

the farm 
To cuff the mules and split the wood to keep the 

heater warm. 
And when the absent hobo came and made his little 

spiel, 
The kid went out and skinned a calf, but brother 

got the veal. 



83 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Baby Sister 



A little baby sister came to Willie's house one day, 

By the Stork Route, straight from heaven, Willie 
heard his Auntie say. 

The little fellow did not know, nor could he under- 
stand 

Why any one should want to leave that bright and 
happy land 

And when he viewed the pinky face and little fuzzy 
head 

He looked as sober as a judge and to the infant said : 

"You surely didn't come down here a lookin' for a 

snap; 
This world it aint no kind of place for such a weazly 

chap. 
My Mamma she is sick abed and Papa seems so blue ; 
I don't see how we'll get along with such a mite as 

you. 

"If you had been a brother I could take you out to 

play. 
But you are just a little girl and only in the way. 
You ought to stayed up yonder with the angels fair 

and bright; 
Our preacher says that heaven beats this country out 

of sight. 
And if you live down here on earth with women folks 

and men 



84 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



You'll have to run the risk of ever gettin' back 
again." 




NEW YEAR RESOLVES 

I will not swear, I will not smoke, I will not 
crack a naughty joke, I will not drink a drop of 
booze, my temper I will never lose. I will not gam- 
ble, steal or lie nor cheat my neighbor on the sly, I'll 
help the poor with lavish hand and for the right will 
take my stand. I will not knock against my town, 
but try to keep dissension down, of people's faults I 
will not talk nor spit upon the floor or walk and thus 
distribute deadly germs ; nor patronize mail order 
firms. I'll try to be a moral guide, a beacon, shining 
far and wide. I'll seek the right and shun the wrong 
and make this life one happy song. The virtuous 
path today I'll seek and walk in it — perhaps a week. 



85 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Snorer 



The golden summer weather is the time to swat the 

fly 

And in the spring we long to see the dandelions die ; 
In winter there's the fellow who will foolishly entice 
A poor benighted brother through a thin place in the 

ice. 
It seems that every season has some things we'd 

rather miss ; 
Without them our existence would be one round of 

bliss. 
But while we must endure them, there comes the 

thought sublime 
That each will run its dreaded course in just a little 

time. 
The things of short duration do not fret me any more 
They are nothing to the fellow with the deep, re- 
dundant snore. 
For the snorer is not governed by the changes of the 

moon; 
'Tis every night throughout the year he sings his dole- 
ful tune, 
And while he wildly saws the air it makes me toss 

and weep 
And softly breathe a cuss word because I cannot 

sleep. 
He goes from bass to treble and from treble back to 

bass. 
The while I woo the drowsy god by lying on my face. 
O, I long to see him wafted to the dark, Plutonian 

shore, 
For my soul abhors the fellow with the syncopated 

snore. 



86 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



House Cleaning Time 

Backward, turn backward, O, time, in your flight 
And give me the house that I slept in last night, 
My bed in the corner so cozy and snug, 
The chair and the couch and the beautiful rug. 

They are vanished and gone like a tale that is told. 
And the floor of the room looks so cheerless and cold. 
For bedding I have but a thin gunny sack 
And I shudder to move lest I step on a tack. 

My dinner was cold and my supper was raw. 
But I know it is useless to grumble and jaw ; 
For the house cleaning season has come once again 
To wear out the patience of poor, helpless men. 

I think every year I'll flee to some clime 
And miss all the horrors of house cleaning time ; 
I long to go off for a dash to the pole 
Or be sent to the pen and allowed to dig coal. 

I fain would abide in some cannibal's camp 
Or sleep in the jungles so darksome and damp ; 
To mountainous heights with delight I would climb 
And stay there contented through house cleaning 
time. 



FOLLOWING SUIT 

"'Tis mighty queer," said Ezra New, 
"That when the snow leaves in the spring. 
It's only just a week or two 
Until the trees leave, too — by jing." 



87 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Hand-Me-Down Maxims 

Ben Franklin was a wondrous sage 
Who flourished in a former age ; 
He made a kite and flew it high 
And yanked the lightning from the sky. 
If he had stuck to tricks like that. 
Upon his science standing pat, 
His never dying memory 
Would be a lot more dear to me. 

But Ben was overwise and smart 
And took himself too much to heart, 
And wrote a lot of silly verse, 
As bad as this and maybe worse, 
To tell folks what they ought to do, 
As if he thought that I or you 
Would like to base our daily acts 
Upon his blamed old almanacs. 

Once, in an evil moment caught, 
Down at the picture store I bought 
A cardboard motto, in a frame, 
And in my bedroom hung the same ; 
Which told me what great Ben had said, 
That I must early go to bed 
And in the morning early rise, 
For that would make me rich and wise. 
So when the twilight shadows came 
Methought I'd buck his little game. 
That I might walk in Wisdom's ways 
And pile up wealth for future days. 

I hung my pants across a chair 

And sought my couch of gander hair 

And there upon the bed I tossed 



88 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Till all my patience I had lost; 
And counted ninety thousand sheep 
Before I closed my eyes in sleep. 

Ere long a pain across my lap 
Awoke me from a troubled nap 
And when the doctor came he said: 
"You should not go so soon to bed ; 
Your evening meal did not digest 
Which robbed you of your peaceful rest. 
Three dollars, please, is what you owe 
And if you'll pay me I will go." 

I took that jinx down from the wall 
And tossed it out into the hall. 
And secretly I vowed that hence 
I'd use a little common sense 
And take no longer as a guide 
Such foolish maxims, cut and dried. 




89 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Summer of Umpity Steen 

When the weather is hot and the river is dry 
And the corn and the taters are yellow and sear, 
Some windy old dub always raises the cry 
And says "O, this isn't a very dry year. 

"Now back in the summer of Umpity-steen 
We sure had a drought that would open your eyes; 
For days and for weeks and for months I have seen 
Hot weather, with never a cloud in the skies. 

"That there was the year when the rattlesnakes died 

Beneath the hot rays of the merciless sun ; 

Full many a one have I et, ready fried, 

As he lay in the pathway, deliciously done. 

"They say that this dry spell beats anything yet 
And quote you the figgers to prove it is true. 
But I claim the weather is soggy and wet 
Compared to the summer of Umpity-two. 

"That season I broke forty acres of sod 

With a pair of dun mules that couldn't be beat. 

But I ruined 'em both just by keepin' 'em shod. 

For their shoes got so hot that it roasted their feet» 

"Don't talk of the river and ponds bein' low ; 
Why, back in the summer of Umpity-four 
The Babtists was holding a camp meetin' show 
And people come forrerd each night by the score. 

"But when it was ended a fact come to light 
That made them evangelists open their eyes; 
They found theirselves in a most sorrowful plight — 
There wasn't no water for them to babtize. 



90 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



"Then a young circuit rider of Wesleyan creed, 
Who found how them converts was left in the lunch, 
Made a forty mile journey down there on his steed 
And roped 'em all into the Methodist church. 

"No need to tell me that the season is hot; 
I know what I know and I've seen what I've seen ; 
W'y it's pleasant compared to the weather we got 
Back there in the summer of Umpity-steen." 



CITY ELECTIONS 

Election now is over and the votes are counted 
out, the victors are rejoicing to see the losers pout; 
the statesmen are selected to make the city's laws, 
the local politicians now may rest their weary jaws. 
The race is to the swiftest, the battle to the strong, 
their friends now slap them on the back, but soon 
they'll change their song. For there's one who wants 
a street light on the corner where he lives and one 
don't like the service his water meter gives; the 
sportsman will be wrathy if the marshal shoots his 
dog; the preacher wants a sidewalk built down past 
the synagogue ; the merchant wants an ordinance to 
keep Ward Skeerbuck out and to stop the vile in- 
truder who peddles sour krout; the taxes are away 
too high, the crossings are too low and if they put the 
paving in where will the water go? There are lots 
of things need doing in each kick infested town but 
the man who undertakes them adds some stars unto 
his crown, for henceforth his earthly journey will be 
filled with grief and woe till he soars away to glory 
from this wicked world below. 



91 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Christmas Giving 



The busy Christmas shopper 
Considers it is proper 
To join the crowd and rush into the thickest of the 
fray 
And soak his summer wages 
In quick, successive stages 
To buy some presents for his friends on happy 
Christmas day. 

The age in which we're living 
Is an awful time for giving, 
But the spirit that is prompting it may be entirely 
wrong ; 
Too often Christmas shopping 
Is a sort of Christmas swapping 
In a sort of favored circle where they pass the gifts 
along. 

If I buy my aunts and cousins 
Costly trinkets by the dozens 
Or present my wealthy neighbor with a silver 
spittereen, 
'Tis because of expectation 
That there'll be reciprocation, 
And I'll get a handsome runabout, propelled by 
gasoline. 

The fellow who is needy. 
Whose duds are old and seedy, 
Gets little out of Christmas but a fresh supply of 
woes; 



92 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



His children know no Santy 
For his means are very scanty 
And every cent that he can make must go for food 
and clothes. 

The real Christmas giving 
That makes this life worth living 
And shows that we are any use in this old world of 
care 
Is to give where it is needing 
And pass not by unheeding 
The wants of those around us who do not get their 
share. 

Some humble, little present 
Or a smile that's warm and pleasant 
Will please a child or cheer those hearts that oft for 
kindness yearn 
And will give more real pleasure 
Than a ton of costly treasure 
That we send our friends, expecting something better 
in return. 




93 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Calendar and the Girl 

The men who sell us cheeses, 
Who deal out dope for sneezes 
And those who handle corner lots and blue sky min- 
ing stock, 
Who peddle books and papers 
And lightning rods and tapers, 
Are waiting now to greet us as we amble round the 
block. 



With faces kind and pleasant 

They hand us out a present, 
A calendar to warn us how the dizzy seasons whirl, 

All filled with days and weather. 

With moons and weeks together, 
And there upon the cover is the picture of a girl. 

Too soon are we encumbered 
With souvenirs unnumbered ; 
The artists vie to please us with some forty kinds of 
style. 
Some long, and some are shorter 
Some narrow — kinda sorter — 
But the girl upon the cover greets us with the same 
old smile. 



The futurists and cubists 

And some who must be rubists. 
Who wear a wisp of new mown hay within their 
tangled curls. 

Are drawing princely wages 

In quick, successive stages 
By furnishing variety in calendars and girls. 



94 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Fair maids with auburn tresses 
And spangles on their dresses ; 
Shy damsels wrapt in dimples — only this and nothing 
more; 
Sweet Janes in fuss and feather, 
'Mid snow and stormy weather, 
And angels, clad in bath suits, sporting on the sandy 
shore. 



We like the girls — God bless 'em, 
Any way the artists dress 'em, 
We gladly post their pictures in the parlor or the 
hall; 
They grace our summer kitchen. 
With face and form bewitchin'. 
And we want a half a dozen hanging on the bedroom 
wall. 



But we crave some variation 

In our scheme of decoration. 
We'd like to have a calendar to hang out in the shed, 

A straw stack or a plover 

Upon the painted cover, 
A forest fire or sunset, daubed in colors ruby red. 

Can't some one draw a smoke-stack, 

A hand car or a flapjack 
A mountain or a mole hill, a sawmill or a squirrel 

To decorate those doogies 

That show how tempus fuges? 
Just anything on earth except the picture of a girl. 



95 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Pawpaw 



The pawpaw grows out in the wood 

Upon a little tree, 
It has a flavor sweet and good 

That quite agrees with me. 
Its mushy meat I fain would gulp, 

'Tis soothing to my soul ; 
It has brown seeds and juicy pulp, 

A skin surrounds the whole. 
I meet some folks upon life's road 

Who do not like its taste 
And if they had a wagon load 

Would let them go to waste. 
I might be able to conceive. 

If I should firmly strive 
How one might be content to leave 

The pleasant family hive 
And go out in the cruel world, 

In loneliness to roam 
Where disappointment's darts are hurled 

And never think of home ; 
Or even how a man might learn 

To love his mother-in-law. 
But cannot see how one could spurn 

The glorious pawpaw. 
If I were rich as Morganheim 

I'd buy a plot of land 
And put in all my leisure time 

Upon a project grand; 
I'd set it out in pawpaw trees 

And thus provide a treat, 
That all the folks on land and sea 

Might have enough to eat. 



96 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Legislature 



Oh, we have a legislature at Topeky, 

There are men with noses keen and voices squeaky; 

There are those whose steps are slow 

And whose tones are soft and low, 
And all appear to have some notions freaky. 

The bills that they present, their name is oodles, 
They are working out a recipe for noodles; 

They would fain forbid our dears 

Wearing doo-dads in their ears. 
And they want to put a tax on sore-eyed poodles. 

For fewer county offices they beller. 
Till they've scared the court house "rats" into the 
cellar, 

Where each one has agreed 

It is just the thing we need. 
Provided they will can the other feller. 

They seem to have poor luck at legislating, 
But expect to do some tall appropriating; 

If their promises they spurn, 

They can anyway adjourn 
And let the taxes go on aviating. 

But let's be calm and face it without squealing 
And calmly play the hand that they are dealing; 

If they only wag their jaws 

And refrain from passing laws, 
There wont be such a bunch to need repealing. 



97 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



School Day Memories 



I used to be a pedagog of country school degree, 

I used to spank the towsled kid across my bended 

knee, 
I used to teach some thirty brats for six months in 

the year 
And sweep the floor and build the fires for forty 

dollars per. 

I sit today and weave these rhymes and thank my 

lucky stars 
I do not have to hunt for verbs for busy brains to 

parse, 
I do not eat cold lunch at noon and wade the mud 

and snow ; 
I gave up all those dreary things a dozen years ago. 

And yet, when summer days are gone and autumn 

comes apace, 
An impulse springs within my soul, usurping reason's 

place. 
The sun is slanting to the south, the days are clear 

and cool 
And something seems to tell me that I'd like to teach 

a school. 



A vision flits across my mind — a school house small 
and white. 

With many a knot hole in the wall and broken win- 
dow light. 



98 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



A lane that came up from the south, with sunflowers 

blooming high 
And tufts of yellow goldenrod, delightful to the eye. 

I like to think those boys and girls who gathered 

round my knee 
Are better men and women now for going to school 

to me 
And as they rise to conquer in this world of smile and 

strife 
I only hope I had a part in helping them through life. 

It seems as years go floating by on wings so sure and 

fleet 
There's something blots the bitter out and leaves 

me all the sweet; 
For memory can't be trusted if once we give her rein, 
She brings us all our pleasures back and buries all 

our pain. 



THE WARM WEATHER NUISANCE 

They're at the cemetery 
Planting Christopher McGrew 
Who asked a pilgrim, weary: 
"Is it hot enough for you ? " 



99 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The National Guard 



We used to call 'em ''dough boys," "tin soldiers" and 

the like 
We used to holler "Hayfoot!" when they went out 

on a hike, 
We couldn't understand what we were paying taxes 

for 
To drill a bunch of soldiers when there wasn't any 

war. 

We looked upon their practice with a heap of solemn 

scorn, 
We said they ought to stay at home and plow the 

weedy corn. 
We aped their awkward motions when they fumbled 

a salute. 
And asked them what their guns were for and who 

they meant to shoot. 

Sometimes on Decoration Day we let them march 

along 
And tag the great procession of a patriotic throng. 
But generally we met them with a snicker or a frown 
And never looked upon them as an asset to the town. 

But now it seems a change has come o'er Hicksburg 

on the plain, 
Our boys are followed by the band while marching 

to the train. 



100 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



They know what they are up against and seem to 

think it fun, 
While the band down at the depot plays "Johnny Get 

Your Gun." 



At last we found a place for them to prove their real 

worth ; 
They're the fairest of ten thousand and the flower 

of the earth. 
When Uncle Sam was short on men and up against 

it hard 
The call to go against the foe was answered by the 

guard. 







IT WAS A CHURCH WEDDING 

The bride came tripping down the aisle, 
Upon her features was a smaisle. 
Beside her walked the trembling groom, 
His face as solemn as the toom. 



101 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



A Plea for the Mule 



In history and poetry, in music and in art 

The horse has been a favored beast and played a 

leading part, 
And while I don't begrudge him the fame that he 

has won. 
There's been too little said about his sister's long 

eared son. 



We praise the foaming charger and weave him in a 

song, 
But how about the humble beast that hauls the grub 

along? 
He snakes the heavy cannon o'er muddy field and 

road 
And is never known to whimper or complain about 

his load. 



In times of peace as well as war the mule is not a 
shirk. 

When Dobbin takes a balky spell, it's Jasper does 
the work. 

In many ways he proves himself much wiser than 
the steed 

He never takes an overdose of water or of feed ; 

And should he chance to run away when by ambition 
fired. 

He always makes his dash with care and stops be- 
fore he's tired. 



102 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



I know there is a prejudice against this humble beast 
But those who hold him with disdain are they that 

know him least. 
Investigate his record with a calm, unbiased mind 
And you will find, as I have found, that he has been 

maligned. 
For even men who hold him up to scorn and ridicule 
Might learn a wholesome lesson from the humble, 

patient mule. 



THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider 
to the fly; but the cunning little insect only winked 
the other eye and he knowingly retorted in a buzz so 
low and sweet: "Well, not upon your half-tone, I 
have learned to watch my feet. I have a load of 
small-pox on my silken little wings, my legs are lined 
with typhus germs and other deadly things. I am 
taking some bacilli to a house across the way and you 
must not try to stop me, for I have no time to play." 

Once more the spider pleaded in accents soft 
and low : "Won't you step into my parlor and rest be- 
fore you go? My web is lined with gossamer of tex- 
ture fine and rare and you'll find some lovely 
microbes if you will enter there. I have a nice collec- 
tion I am saving just for you, and I want to seal our 
friendship with a B. Coli or two." 

"With all my heart," replied the fly and straight- 
way walked inside and the spider got his dinner and 
was fully satisfied. 



L;^ 



103 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Parade Habit 



It used to be in strenyus times when things was r'iled 

a bit 
We'd gather round the grocery stove an' argify an' 

spit; 
But now our mouths we do not shoot, our backs we 

do not arch, 
For when we wish to make our p'int, we jist git out 

an' march. 



The fellers who are strong for peace, who fear war's 

dread alarm. 
They lay aside their labors now in store or shop or 

farm 
An' form theirselves in solid ranks along the busy 

street 
To prove that they are in the right by workin' of 

their feet. 



Likewise the guys who say this land is wholly unpre- 
pared. 

Who think the mollycoddles are all asleep or scared. 

They mass their solid columns within the marts of 
trade 

An' hoof it down the avenue an' give a big parade. 

The gals who b'leeve in sufferage are trampin' out 

the votes, 
The labor unions walk to show how mammon got 

their goats ; 



104 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



We have no use for orators our the'ries to expound, 
We'd ruther go an' hire a band an' f oiler it around; 

We do not quote authorities to show that we are right 
When we go in for buildin' roads or puttin' booze to 

flight, 
An' if some other feller's scheme we want to give a 

knock, 
We simply gather up a crowd an' hayfoot round the 

block. 



THE SUCCESSFUL FAILURE 

Bill Budlong of Ranikaboo 

Had nothing whatever to do ; 

Each job that he tried he bungled and pied, 

Till he had to get up and skiddoo. 

He started to work for himself. 
But he never could corner the pelf; 
His head was so lame his creditors came 
And laid his affairs on the shelf. 

Now Bill would occasionally mix 
With the men who were in politics ; 
So Tom, Dick and Bob created a job 
The future of William to fix. 

They made him the Big Gazaboo, 
The Rajah of Ranikaboo. 
Ten dollars a day he draws as his pay 
And he has very little to do. 

He rules like a king on his throne 
And the depth of his gall is unknown. 
He can teach millionaires to run their affairs 
Though he never could manage his own. 



105 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Gardening By Almanac 

Jim Jacobs owned a plot of ground ; 
He fenced it carefully around 
And spread it thick with rich manure, 
Its fertile nature to insure. 

He ordered packs of garden seeds, 

Of nice, clean strain and free from weeds; 

He worked away with rake and hoe 

And formulated bed and row. 

Then sat him down to rest his back 

And read Hostetter's almanac. 

For Jim was ancient in his ways. 
He went by seasons, signs and days; 
From February until June 
His acts were governed by the moon. 

The while the spring was clear and fair 
He lingered in his easy chair. 
And feared to sow his crop of peas 
Because the sign w^as in the knees. 

He frittered golden hours away 
And waited for St. Patrick's day. 
And then he could not plant a spud 
Unless he slopped around in mud. 

When favored by the Zodiac, 
The frigid weather held him back. 
Till he lost out on stringless beans 
And failed on raising mustard greens. 

While waiting for the moon to phase 
The time went by for early maize. 
And summer came and then the fall 
And Jacobs raised no crop at all. 



106 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Call of the Brook 

Whene'er a gentle shower falls 

And lures the red worms from the soil 

A still, small voice from somewhere calls 

And bids me quit insipid toil. 

I want to take a line and hook, 
A can of wiggly, squirming bait, 
And mope off to the burbling brook 
Where hungry bullheads stand and wait. 

The green upon the graceful elm, 
The red-bird singing in the tree, 
The tadpole as he ports his helm 
Are all of interest to me. 

This angling is a sport for kings. 
It beats baseball and mumbly pegs; 
It makes dull care sprout eagle wings 
And knocks the spavin from my legs. 

And as I hit the homeward route 
*Tis sweet to think, at eventide. 
When I have yanked their innards out 
How nice those fish will be when fried. 

I like their flavor, it is true 
But if I do not get a bite, 
I feel most any way but blue 
As I go tramping home at night. 

For narrow is the soul of him 
Whose only concept of success 
Hangs on the proposition, slim, 
Of whether he can catch a mess. 



107 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Requiescat In Partes 

Jim Jacobs owned a motor car that sped along like 

blazes, 
And many were the noble men he put beneath the 

daisies ; 
They warned him and they pinched him but he went 

his way unheeding, 
And nothing seemed to satisfy his mania for speeding. 

For splintered bone and quaking flesh the villain 

seemed to hanker, 
He crippled up a section boss and massacred a 

banker. 
And when a circus came to town and through the 

street paraded, 
He bore down like a juggernaut and had a cyclone 

faded. 

He bumped into the monkey cage, he busted up the 

kirmess. 
He fractured all the ribs inside the monster pachy- 

dermus, 
He killed a Spanish matador who came from Casa 

Loma, 
And when the cops got on his track he fled to 

Oklahoma. 

Across the oil fields he sped, his purpose never 

flaggin' 
And bumped some nitroglycerin upon a shooter's 

wagon. 
The shock that followed scattered him all over forty 

acres. 
They never could have picked him up with fifty 

undertakers. 



108 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



Kind hearted men, who delve for oil upon surround- 
ing leases, 
Set up a slab and on it wrote this legend : 



'REST IN PIECES." 



BABY BYE— REVISED 

Baby Bye, here's a fly. 

Let us swat him, you and I ; 

See him crawl up the wall, 

Aint he got a lot of gall? 

Now he goes on his toes, 

Spreading germs o'er Baby's nose. 

Baby Bye, swat the fly. 

Soak the villain hip and thigh; 

He is like Pandora's box, 

Full of mumps and chicken-pox. 

See, he scatters in his wake 

Grip and croup and stomach-ache. 

Get a sheet of tangle-foot, 

Screens upon the window put; 

Do not let the little fly 

In the room with Baby Bye. 



109 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Taking Vacations 



Old Rockebilt has lots of dough 
And wants for nothing here below; 
He has a mansion rich and rare, 
With walnut floor and marble stair, 
An uptown office, grand and gay, 
In which he spends an hour a day. 
And while I never saw him do 
What looks like work to me and you, 
Yet strange to say, within his breast 
There dwells the strong desire for rest. 

Whene'er the summer comes apace. 
He hikes to hunt a cooler place ; 
From June the first till early fall 
He trots around this earthly ball 
And visits cities o'er and o'er 
He's seen a dozen times before. 

He spends a week in Santa Fe, 
Then takes a swim in Baffin Bay, 
And straightway flits across the foam. 
Some twenty thousand miles from home. 
To gaze upon the same old Alps 
Or view a lot of martyr scalps, 
Stacked in a musty catacomb 
Upon the site of ancient Rome. 

When Rockebilt gets home once more 
The autumn days are almost o'er 
And he must seek a warmer clime. 
Before the rigid winter time 
Comes on to chase the goose flesh out 
And bring again a twinge of gout. 



110 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



He sends a call by telephone 
To somewhere in the torrid zone 
And hires a suite of forty rooms 
Where nature wears eternal blooms ; 
Then up he gets and off he goes 
To where it never sleets or snows. 

And so it goes, year after year. 

He wont stay there he can't stay here ; 

He never seems to think it best 

To take a rest from hunting rest. 

I can't afford to gad around 
Through Mozambique and Puget Sound; 
I have not that amount of cash 
To warrant me in such a dash. 
Beside I think the man who stays 
Upon the job through trying days 
Has lots more pleasure when by chance 
He gets to don his Sunday pants 
And pack his duds into a grip 
To start off on his humble trip. 

I go down where I used to stay, 
A score of miles or so away. 
Which seems to me is better far 
Than traipsing off to Zanzibar. 
Then all the folks I used to know 
Walk up and shake and say hello 
And call me by my forward name 
And say I'm looking just the same. 

I find that country grub a treat 
For folks at home have lots to eat; 
I join the kids and play at catch, 
I hunt the watermelon patch. 
Or hang around the cider mill 
With cup to catch the nut-brown rill. 



Ill 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



I cut a lot of slender poles 
To try out all the fishing holes 
And when at eventide I bring 
A mess of bullheads on a string, 
I'm just as proud of what I got 
As though I owned a fussy yacht 
And caught a whale in Zuyder Zee 
Or slew a moose in Tennessee. 



HEREDITARY CRIME 

There used to be traitors and liars and thieves 
and men who would plunder and kill and people 
imagined their devilment came because of their own 
wicked will. But now it is proven such logic is false, 
they were moved by some subtle desire, a mania 
possessed them that they had acquired from mother 
or granddad or sire. There was Judas Iscariot, 
whose name we abhor; perhaps he was not such a 
scamp, his ancestors may have been miserly men and 
left on their offspring this stamp. And Benedict 
Arnold, who sold this fair land to the forces of old 
Johnny Bull, might have had a big load of dementia 
on hand that he was unable to pull. That Ananias- 
Sapphira affair that raised such a terrible row — if 
given a chance on a perjury charge they could plead 
mythomania now. 



112 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



The Assessor 



The busy assessor is out on his beat 

And craves your attention awhile, 
So when he approaches you, try to keep sweet 

And answer his questions and smile. 

He wants to find out what your property's worth 
And how much you have in the bank; 

The month and the day and the year of your birth; 
And what is your station and rank ; 

How many dill pickles you planted last year; 

The number of hen eggs you get; 
What you do when the weather is pleasant and clear. 

And when it is soggy and wet. 

He counts all the dogs and the children in sight 

And asks if you have any more. 
Does you wife raise a row when you stay out at night? 

Have you ever been married before? 

A book and a pencil and paper he brings, 

With questions conned over by rote 
And asks you a million and forty-four things 

About like the samples I quote. 

So try to be truthful, though others have lied, 
And if you don't know, make a guess. 

There's no use in trying your secrets to hide 
From the man who comes round to assess. 



113 



When Willie Jined the Band 

There's Willie, he's our youngest son, 

He went to town to work ; 
'Twas in his uncle's livery barn^ 

He got a job as clerk. 
He wasn't like the other boys, 

His brothers Jeff and Harm ; 
He 'lowed he'd never kill himself 

A workin' on a farm. 

We hadn't got no word from him 

Till one day Silas Brown, 
Who alius stops to chat awhile 

When he comes home from town, 
He stops his horse and says to me 

"Well, Zeke, I understand 
That that there boy, Bill, of yours 

Has went and jined the band." 

I didn't think it strange at all 

And neither did his Ma ; 
He could make a jews-harp jingle 

On "Turkey In The Straw." 
At singin' school when all the rest 

Would sit around and grin, 
Will laid aside his bashfulness 

And boldly waded in. 

The Fourth was only three days off ; 

We hadn't planned to go, 
'Cause we had lots of corn to plow 

And lots of weeds to hoe. 
But we finally decided 

To celebrate the day, 
And more especial when we learned 

The band was goin' to play. 



114 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



When we drove in the picnic grounds 

The band was on parade ; 
It kinder quickened up my pulse 

To hear the tunes they played. 
And when our Willie marched along, 

Dressed in his uniform, 
It sorter throwed me off my base 

And took my wits by storm. 

I almost thought that he was me 

In my old suit of blue ; 
My mind went back to other days — 

The days of ' sixty two — 
I heard once more the tune they played 

In years that's gone before: 
'We're coming, Father Abraham, 

Three hundred thousand more." 

The waving flags, the beating drums, 

The screaming of the fife. 
All took me backward through those days 

Of fratricidal strife. 
The wildest notes of war's alarm 

Kept chasin' through my brain; 
It didn't seem like me at all 

Till I got home again. 




115 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



'Nothing in the Paper'' 



"There's nothing in the paper" is a very common 

phase ; 
Perhaps it may have come to us from pre-diluvian 

days. 
No doubt when Noah and his sons were fitting up 

the ark, 
The folks who read the Daily Squawk would sit 

around and bark 
And wonder why the editor devoted gobs of space 
To a cranky preacher-carpenter with whiskers on 

his face. 

"There's nothing in the paper," the sad subscriber 

groans, 
"Except that Mrs, Isaac Smith is calling on Miss 

Jones, 
Or Jinks has roofed his hen house or cut his crop of 

weeds, 
Or that Schnickelfritz, the grocer, sells farm and 

garden seeds." 

When there has been a holocaust, a murder or a fight, 
The reader takes an interest, you see his features 

light; 
He yells unto his neighbor who lives across the way: 
"Why don't they give us news like that to read about 

each day?" 

He does not seem to realize that when the paper 

lacks 
The headlines, red and screaming, with their toll of 

grewsome facts, 



116 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



That everything is lovely with neighbor, friend and 

foe 
And the town is jogging onward in the way it ought 

to go. 

So when you find no rank detail of some revolting 

caper 
Just fold it up and thank the Lord "There's nothing 

in the paper." 



KEEPING UP THE INTEREST 

Mary had a little calf — 

In fact she had a pair — 

But the fellows couldn't see them 

For the clothes she used to wear. 

So Mary shortened up her skirts, 

Her gambrels to display. 

And proudly marched along the streets 

To paralyze the jay. 

Eftsoons she lost the power 
The loafers to bewitch, 
For they had grown accustomed 
To seeing legs and sich ; 

So she togged her underpinnings 
In thin and gauzy hose 
And shoes so low they only served 
To cover up her toes. 

When these at last had spent their charms 
The gazers to debauch. 
She tried the latest recipe 
And bought an ankle watch. 



117 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Reformed Reformer 



Gid Fluke has turned evangelist, 
The devil's tail he likes to twist ; 
He tells upon the street each day 
How he was once a cast-away. 
And thousands come as he exhorts, 
Who shed big tears when he cavorts. 
And wonder at the change that's come 
O'er such a booze-besotted bum. 

This world is full of sin and woe. 

And ministers are scarce, I know; 

I might go out and snatch the brands 

That now are grasped in Satan's hands, 

But, sad to say, when I was young 

No cuss-words slid from off my tongue, 

I did not fall a prey to drink 

And down into the gutter sink. 

Nor patronize a gambling hell. 

That I in later years might tell 

The story of my early woes, 

And proudly show my flaming nose. 

For I was taught that what we sowed 
When starting out upon life's road. 
The same we'd reap in after years; 
That vice would bring us bitter tears. 
While, if we walked in virtue's ways, 
A plenteous peace would bless our days. 
And so I went to Sunday School 
And tried to live the Golden Rule ; 
Quite confident when I was grown 
A long-tailed coat should be my own; 



118 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



That in the pulpit I should stand 
And sound the gospel through the land; 
While Gid, with other sinful chaps, 
Was in a box car shooting craps. 

But now I toil for meager pay 
At humble tasks the livelong day, 
While Gid is hoarding big, fat rolls 
By saving countless sinners' souls. 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

Mamie and Mabel and Mary and Grace, 
They went off to school in a very swell place 
In a week came a letter signed "Your own Maymye, 
I'm having a time and I know you don't blayme me." 
The second young miss on a postcard wrote "May- 
belle" 
And added ''I'll send more as soon as I'm aybelle." 
Some other folks heard from their darling Marie 
Who was happy, she said, as a bird on a trie. 
And last but not least came a message from Grayce 
Who said "I am firmly attached to this playce." 



119 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



Everything Is High 



Have you noticed what a contest 
Has been going on of late? 
Every blessed thing around us 
Seems to want to aviate. 

Airship men are fighting, striving, 
For the greatest altitude 
And we all are quite familiar 
With the current price of food. 

Now the fashions are decreeing 
Higher hems for misses' skirts ; 
Some among the latest models 
Would not do for decent shirts. 

In this age of aviating 
Men are mounting to the breeze. 
And the girls are wearing dresses 
That will hardly hide their knees. 

Every season finds them shorter 
And it's time to call a halt. 
Ere the blasts of rude November 
From the polar regions vault. 

If the girls keep on undressing 
At the rate they have this fall. 
Ere the snow of winter strikes them 
They will have no skirts at all. 



120 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



A Tussle With Grip 



On a winter evening dreary while I hovered, 
dreamy, weary, by the fireside warm and cheery, 
thawing out by marrow bones, suddenly there came 
a feeling up my spinal column stealing, like an icy 
tape unreeling through my lumbar-dorsal zones. 
*"Tis some vagrant breeze," I murmured, ''that 
around my casement moans in such dismal under- 
tones." 

Soon my noodle started aching like my cranium 
was breaking, soon my frame with pain was quaking 
from the shoulder to the hip. With a vengeance al- 
most killing I was seized with sudden chilling and I 
said : "I'll bet a shilling that I've got the proper tip." 
So far on my pilgrim journey I had given it the slip, 
but I knew I had the grip. 

Very well do I remember how I spent that bleak 
December with an ache in every member of this 
mortal frame of mine. Days were spent in morbid 
moping, nights were given up to doping, till I had no 
heart for hoping that the sun would ever shine. 
"When, O, when," I asked despairing, "can I quit 
this dope of mine — pills and squills and turpentine?" 

Now I feel a little stronger since the days are 
getting longer and I see a feathered songer sitting 
out upon a tree, telling me that spring is coming that 
will start the bees to humming and I find that I am 
summing up the joy 'twill bring to me. For I have a 
sort of notion that I'm on the Wellville trip — that 
this grip ere long will slip. 



121 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



High Water Time 



River, river, little river, 

Bright you sparkle on your way, 
While the tadpoles dance and quiver 

And upon your bosom play. 

River, river, muddy river. 

There has been a little rain, 

And it makes me shake and shiver. 
Lest there come some more again. 

Little river, how you wander 

Over all the countryside. 
Filling fields and barns and houses 

With your creeping, lapping tide. 

There are turtles in the cellar, 
There are bullfrogs in the well. 

And the hickory shads are playing 
Over in the bosky dell. 

Tell me, little river, tell me 

Why you clamber o'er the bank. 

Filling all the land with dampness 
And a smell so loud and rank. 

River, river, raging river. 

Full of mud and drift and slime. 
Like the bile upon the liver 

During watermelon time. 



122 



BY ALBERT STROUD 



It Isn't Any Snap 



The poet leads a strenuous life as through the world 

he goes, 
He has to keep his kids and wife in victuals and in 

clothes ; 
He works throughout the livelong day to build a little 

rhyme 
And all his genius flies away before 'tis dinner time. 
The lonely watches of the night he spends awake in 

bed 
But cannot join his words aright because the muse 

has fled. 

When slow success his efforts crown and he has 

built a verse 
Then everybody in the town agrees it aint so worse. 
They ask: "However do you make your thoughts like 

rivers flow ? 
You have the gift of Billy Shake, who flourished long 

ago. 
Why don't you write your news in rhyme and fill the 

daily sheet 
With tales of love and mirth and crime, done up in 

stanzas neat? 
Why don't you write the ads that way and tell us 

where to go 
To buy our boots and beans and hay and tickets for 

the show? 
Say wont you make some poetry about the Kameroons 
To read at missionary tea on Thursday afternoons?" 

They seem to think a poet's mind is like a sorghum 

tank 
And all he has to do is grind out verses with a crank. 



123 



VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 



The Three Fishers 



Three fishers went strolling away to the creek, 

Away to the creek as the sun went down. 

'Twas a summer night at the end of the week 

And their wives stood watching them out of town. 

For men will fish while the women wait, 

And there's no telling what they will take for bait 

When they stroll away in the gloaming. 

The night went by and they did not come; 

Three anxious women set out on their tracks, 

And they found their husbands so cold and dumb, 

So still and pale on the flat of their backs. 

For men will fish till they get full of booze, 

Then all of their senses they quickly lose 

And their wits go far a-roaming. 

Three fishers went sneaking away to their homes. 

Away to their homes in the early dawn, 

With a throbbing pain in each of their domes 

And three mad women to urge them on.^ 

And when their friends asked what they caught. 

They turned away and they answered naught, 

For they thought of the beer and its foaming. 



H 




124 




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